Before You (Stucky AU)
by korolevax
Summary: In which Bucky is a sassy spitfire and Steve is the awkwardly adorable homeless man. After years away in the military, Steve wanders back to Brooklyn just to find his childhood home knocked down and replaced by a strip of stores downtown, one of which is a tattoo shop with a not-so-friendly owner. He then takes the first chance at work by drafting art for a long haired tattooist.
1. Chapter One

Brooklyn seemed different.

Steve had been gone longer than he thought, but it felt as if he had walked down his block just last week. The military had paid for his flight back home. This time, he was staying.

He was tall and awkward, and he kept shifting in his seat in the back of the cab. His eyes darted nervously around the road, taking in the sights he had all but forgotten.

There were local barbershops and markets, all of which his mother supported like the gracious woman she was before she passed away while Steve was in his teens. The memory of walking there with her on the weekends made him crack a smile.

More images flew by the window as they drove. _They must have renovated this place_. Things were a lot nicer than he remembered them being. It seemed busier, as well. More cars were driving through, and the sidewalks were filled with people.

"Are you sure this is the way?" Steve asked. He leaned a little bit to his right so the taxi driver could see him in the rear view mirror.

The man nodded bluntly. "Four-eighteen Barker Street, right?" His eyes were bored as he stared at Steve in the reflection.

"Yeah. That's it." Steve replied quietly. He sat straight again, chewing on his lip as they drove through the city. He hadn't been home in a long time, but he was sure that his neighborhood was much farther from downtown.

The man driving was puffing on a cigarette, but the window beside him was barely cracked. Steve made a fist and loudly coughed into it, but the driver paid no attention. If he did, he was ignoring him. _So maybe the people are different, too_.

The rest of the car ride was in silence. Steve wasn't used to taking cabs, but it was definitely a nice break from wobbly combat vehicles plowing over rough terrain. The radio was on. It was quiet, but definitely on. Military trucks didn't have that, either.

The more the they drove, the more nervous Steve became. Maybe he had jumped into the wrong taxi and got stuck with a shoddy driver. But that was just his luck.

"This is Barker Street." The man announced. It was almost as if he wanted Steve to feel lost just so he could take another ride and double the cab fair. _The people are different._

Steve ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. It was short, and he really didn't like it that way, but just in the week that he'd been out of service it had grown a bit. He shook his head, making himself worry about the fact that he may be lost in Brooklyn instead of worrying about his hair.

"Are you sure?" Steve tilted his head to look at the man in the rear view mirror. He had the urge to say something snappy, but the irritated look on his face made him wonder if he was concealing and carrying.

The man took a deep breath. "I'll pop the trunk so you can get your bag. Unless you wanna go for another joy ride?" The man's accent was heavy with sarcasm as he puffed out his cigarette smoke.

Steve forced a smile, hoping he looked just as sarcastic as the other man sounded. "Thank you for the drive."

With that, he gripped the door handle and pushed it open so roughly he was surprised it didn't break off entirely. As Steve stepped out of the cab, he was so thankful of the fresh air compared to the stuffy atmosphere of the cab he was about to stop and wait in the middle of the street. But the cars kept humming along, forcing him around back.

Steve grabbed the tail of the trunk and pushed it open. With a soft grunt, he pulled his army duffel out of the trunk and slid it over his shoulder. After being away for so long, he wasn't sure if he should be proud or pitiful that all of his belongings fit into one bag.

He closed the trunk with a slam so hard the back end of the taxi bounced. A satisfied smirk leapt over his face. Steve stepped up onto the curb and looked at the continuous strip of shops. This was definitely not his neighborhood. This was downtown Brooklyn.

"Hey, kid!"

Steve turned around, surprised to see the taxi driver's shoulders stuck out of the passenger side window. The man was still chewing his cigarette as he called out, "You didn't pay yet."

With a short gasp of embarrassment, Steve patted around his pockets to find his wallet. The army bag slid around on his shoulder in the process.

Steve missed it, but he wished he could've seen the look on the man's face when he noticed the bag was army issued.

The driver grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and let it fall onto the sidewalk outside the cab. His hands quickly grabbed the baseball cap on his head and took it off, revealing hair so balding and messy he should have kept it on. "Thank you for your service."

He had come home wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It was crazy how differently people treat you based on what you look like.

Steve's eyes furrowed as he looked away from his wallet and at the man. His blue eyes widened in surprise, seeing the baseball cap twisted between the man's hands. "You're welcome." He gave the man a curt nod before stretching out his leg and stomping the man's cigarette to ash beneath his shoe.

"Here." Steve ducked down to read the fare meter, pulling out the money needed and handing it to the driver.

The man took the money, his hands a bit shaky. He pulled half of it into the car and stuck it in his pocket before returning the other half to Steve. "Welcome home, sir."

Steve gingerly reached out and took the money. His face was blank-mostly with shock. He took it, and didn't have time to insist the man take all of it; he had slipped back in his cab, rolled the window up and drove away.

 _The people are definitely different._ Steve's hand flew to the strap on his shoulder, making sure his bag stayed there as he walked a few shops down. All of them were numbered above the door, but Steve didn't see 418 until he stood in front of a tattoo parlor.

He was debating whether or not to go in when the door opened up and someone else walked out. He was shorter than Steve by a few inches, as his messy brown hair was tied back in a bun. He wore a plain tank top, showing the sleeves of ink that covered his arm.

The man had keys in his left hand as he locked up the shop. That arm was covered in black and grey, a work of art so vivid Steve had to stare for a moment before realizing it was only the tattoo of a robotic arm and not an actual prosthetic. It ran all the way to his fingers.

"The daycare is across the street, few shops down." The man said clearly, turning around and swinging the keys around on his finger.

 _Do I look like a dad to him_? Steve didn't care to argue. "Is this four-eighteen?"

The man was silent a moment. He looked behind him, and up at the sticker numbers plastered above the front door. "It seems it is." The man said slowly like he was talking to a child.

"Well, is-is there a different Barker Street?" Steve asked.

The man shrugged. He reached behind his head, deciding his hair was annoying him. His mechanic tattoo arm flexed behind his head as he pulled the tie from his hair. The messy locks fell down to his shoulders. "Just so happens this is the one and only in Brooklyn."

Steve could've punched him, but he wasn't that violent. His thoughts of hitting that man in his smug grin quickly subsided as panic washed over him. He rose his hands to his face, stressfully rubbing it before tightly skimming his fingers through his hair. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." The man looked over Steve's shoulder and gestured to his bag. "How long have you been gone?"

The blonde man sighed deeply, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Nine years."

A low and deep whistle came out of the other man's lips. "The neighborhood that used to be here was torn down six years ago. I take it that's where you were?"

Steve just nodded blankly, unable to form any words.

The man made a pitied clicking noise with his tongue. "You're folks didn't tell you?"

Steve didn't feel like sharing any more personal data with the snarky guy, so he just shook his head. "I lived alone." He lied, and he was sure it was obvious, but the man went with it.

"I'm Bucky." He said, holding out his hand.

His right arm was covered in tattoos as well. Steve tore his eyes away from his sleeves in an attempt not to stare, but only got caught up in staring at the man's brownish blue eyes. They were chocolaty for sure, but there were a few specks in them that seemed to be blue.

The man cleared his throat, the smug grin on his face growing wider as he saw Steve to be flustered. "I'm Steve." He managed to say at last.

Bucky shook his hand. For someone smaller than him, he seemed like he wanted to crush Steve's hand. So he was a bit of a spitfire, if that wasn't clear already.

"Well Steve," Bucky sighed, his hand still clasped around Steve's, "I think it's safe to say you're homeless."

 **thank you all for reading! i was pretty sure the comics never said where steve lived exactly but if they did then let me know! and i really like spunky-punk bucky and dad steve lmao. also, bucky's eyes are brown but sebastian's are blue, so i mixed them to make him extra pretty. i hope you enjoy too :)**


	2. Chapter Two

_It's safe to say you're homeless._

It Bucky could have been any less helpful, Steve had a hard time imagining it. He just stood there in front of Steve, a smug grin plastered over his face as if the situation was amusing to him.

"Thanks." was all Steve was able to murmur out. It was spitefully sarcastic, but he didn't mind. Apparently neither did Bucky, as he just let out a humored laugh.

Swinging his keys around in his hand, Bucky looked down the street. "If you hail a cab, the nearest hotel is two blocks down. Not the greatest, but it's cheap. It's probably the best place to stay until you get something better."

Steve followed the man's gaze down the road. He wasn't really paying attention; he just stared off, his mind too racing to comprehend. "Thanks." He grumbled yet again.

Bucky raised his brows, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling too broadly. "Don't mention it."

The scratching noise of Bucky's boot against the sidewalk as he turned to walk away made Steve glance back at him. He had been in town for less than half an hour and the only company he had was a hypocritical cab driver and a greasy haired man. "Hey, Bucky?"

He stopped walking and lazily looked over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

Steve chewed the inside of his cheek as he looked for something to say. Why couldn't he think of anything? "Do I really look like a dad?"

His seemingly signature grin stretched over Bucky's lips. He looked away from Steve's eyes, his tongue darting out and licking his lips slowly. "Nah." He shrugged, turning away again. "You look like kind of a punk."

Steve watched Bucky walk away, twirling his key ring around his finger to amuse himself as he went along. He stopped before crossing the street, and his hand suddenly ceased spinning and caught his keys. Bucky looked over his shoulder, his smile growing again as he saw Steve still looking at him.

He swore Bucky had winked at him before jogging across the intersection.

The motel Bucky directed him too was way worse than he had made it out to be.

The sign was off, but Steve was sure that if it was turned on, those broken neon lights would crackle and spark in defiance. It was set in a U shape, two stories of rooms. The check-in was right at the center of the first level. Steve held onto his bag tighter as he walked across the gravel parking lot.

Swinging the door open, Steve looked inside. It was surprisingly decent for such an ugly exterior. At first, no one came, but the bell from the door produced a dark skinned man to come eagerly around the corner as if he hadn't had a guest in years.

That didn't really comfort Steve. He gave the man a weary smile and walked up to the desk. "I need a room. Just a few days."

The other man nodded, not bothering to say hello now that Steve had gotten right to the point. "Yeah, we have one vacant."

 _You have more than one_ , Steve thought as he looked around. He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket, sliding his I.D. over the counter. "Great." He said simply.

The man-whose nametag read _Sam_ in dull grey letters, quickly took them and grabbed a set of keys from under the desk. As he went, the dog tags around his neck clanked against each other. "Room seventeen, second floor."

Steve tore his gaze from the tags and grabbed the keys. "Thanks."

Sam didn't mind his staring. He just nodded, his eyes oddly understanding as he turned his attention back to the computer in front of him. "Enjoy your stay."

That may be hard. Steve trudged up the metal stairs, finding his key and opening the door to his room. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he chest ached.

The curtains were drawn, so everything inside was shaded heavily. He switched on a few lights, taking a moment to look at the bed that seemed a bit short for Steve and the dusty vanity across from it. Even the carpet reminded him of his grandmother's home.

 _Beggars can't be choosers._ Steve let his bag fall to the floor with a heavy thug. The bed let out a weary creak as he sat on the edge of it, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

This was Brooklyn now. Dirty streets and dirtier people. He fell back onto the bed, his body somehow restless. This wasn't close to home.

The next morning, Steve woke up feeling like his body was on ice. Sleeping in a bed was nice for one, but it wasn't what he expected. There was too much on his mind to dwell on the fact that all that had happened and he never got a notice saying him home was torn down. He was away, not dead.

He didn't have many clothes, but he managed to dig out a few clean items from his bag. Steve had necessities at home; all of his clothing, his furniture. But he didn't have important things stashed away behind those doors while he was gone. He guessed that was a good choice.

Mornings in Brooklyn still looked the same. Seeing cloudy skies and damp pavement eased his mind as he went out. He didn't know what he was doing, or where he was going, but he needed to go out.

Surely enough, the sign for the motel was off. The door to the check-in was locked. Everything being so desolate made him on edge. He picked up the pace, crossing over to the sidewalk across the street.

Downtown was so basic, but Steve loved it. He loved the underrated coffee shops and the lame music stores. The tables set out outside restaurants were oddly comforting. They seemed so familiar. He had no friends, no family, and even his home had changed. At least something was similar to how it used to be.

He had walked a few blocks down when the tattoo parlor came into sight. It rested between a booksellers and a place that looked as if it was being renovated and open for leasing. The windows were stringed with reality signs.

The chime above the door let out a loud ring as Steve pulled open the door to the tattoo shop. Steve didn't have tattoos. He didn't want tattoos. He'd have a better chance of working at the café nearby and flirting for tips. That would have been a sure thing.

Nothing had been a sure thing ever since he got back. Why start now?

"What were you looking for this time? 'Cause Yoga World is real close, I wouldn't blame you for getting lost." Bucky's unforgettable voice remarked gruffly.

Steve looked around the parlor before staring at Bucky. He was behind the front desk, hunched over it like he was too lazy to stand but too restless to sit. He hadn't bothered to pick his head up and look at Steve until he hadn't heard a response from him.

"Will you move? You're blocking the door." Bucky sighed, picking his hand up to gesture.

Steve's eyes widened as he drew himself to reality. He quickly shuffled forward, standing in front of the desk. Bucky had a pen in hand, sketching something on a pad of paper. "Do you own this place?" Steve wondered aloud.

Bucky nodded shortly. "That's me. Why?" He looked up, huffing to move the strand of hair away from his eyes. "You want a cute little butterfly tattoo on your hip?"

Steve furrowed his brows as Bucky glanced down at Steve's waist as he said that. He shuffled uneasily, trying to advert the man's attention back up to his face. "Are you hiring?"

The brunette rested his forearms against the desk. "What exactly would you have to offer?" He bit his lip skeptically.

Steve was quick to reply. "I'm a good artist, I just-I've never tattooed before."

"Well that's kinda an important skill set." Bucky's murmur oozed oblivious sarcasm. "Do you have any artwork with you?"

Shaking his head, Steve rubbed his hands together and looked around the room. "No, but I can draw you something."

Bucky was quiet as he took a moment to process this. His shallow eyes dazed off, staring at the desk in debate. They truly were a unique color, as if they had a new hue with each fleck of light. Bucky's fingers drummed the counter.

He stood straight up quickly, grabbing a pen and the pad of paper. He ripped off whatever drawing he was doodling on top, crumpling it and throwing it in the trash. He slid the pad to Steve before turning and gesturing for him to follow. "Fine."

Steve perked up immediately. Just the acceptance was enough to give him a bit of hope. He grabbed the pen and paper, quickly walking around the desk and following Bucky back.

They ducked into a curtained off room, where Bucky had already made himself comfortable on the tattoo table. He crossed his legs out in front of him, placing his hands behind his head. "What are you gonna draw me?"

Steve silently sat down in the artist's chair, crossing his leg to make it easier to draw on the pad. He tapped his pen to the paper, not knowing how to answer. "What do you want me to draw?"

"Surprise me." Bucky shrugged carelessly. He gave Steve a flirtatious smile. "Just make it pretty."

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. He looked down at the blank paper, pristine and yet to be defiled. His eyes roamed back up to the man on the chair.

Bucky's hair was sprawled out at his shoulders, his eyes peacefully closed as if he were going to sleep. Steve had the urge to ask him about his own tattoos, about the mechanical sleeve over his left arm. He wanted to know what kind of name 'Bucky' was, or what he was good at drawing.

He knew what he had to draw.

Steve took a deep breath, and the man on the other side of the room let out a satisfied smile as he heard the sound of pen scratching against paper. "Why were you gone so long?" Bucky asked randomly.

Steve didn't take his eyes off his paper. "I was busy."

"Doing what?" Bucky didn't wait a second on his follow-up question.

The blonde was silent before answering. "The wrong things." He stated simply.

That had peaked Bucky's interest. He sat up a bit, swinging one leg off the end of the chair. "And what were the wrong things?"

Steve looked up, taking in the sight of Bucky in his new position and the expression of his piqued interested. "I went to art school for a year. I got bored, though. I just-wanted to do something."

Bucky nodded. "So you ran away into the military?"

His fist clenched around the pen as Steve stopped writing for a moment. "I didn't run away." He said quickly. Bucky looked away, knowing he had said the wrong thing. He sat back again and stared at his hands in his lap.

"I went to the military because I didn't have anything else. I didn't think anything else would have the same effect."

Bucky swallowed visibly, and Steve wasn't sure if that meant nervousness or not. "Effect?"

Nodding, Steve kept drawing. "Where I lived when I was a kid, there was a lot of fighting. When I was littler, I couldn't do anything, but people stopped messing with me when I grew up. I figured if I could change those idiots for the better, I could do the same in the military."

"Did you?" Bucky asked. Steve had the sudden feeling he was reading a picture book and Bucky was the kid who wanted to desperately know how it ended.

He didn't answer. Steve capped his pen and leaned forward, handing Bucky his finished drawing. Bucky sat up and swung both legs over the edge of the chair as he stared at it with interest.

Steve watched Bucky's eyes, unsure what to make out of it. The drawing was crude-for being made in a rush and with ink-but it was him nonetheless.

There was Bucky, sketched on paper, his body huddled in the corner of some dark room and balled up as if he were hiding. His legs tucked into his torso. A metal arm rose over his head for protection, nothing but strands of brown hair visible over his face. His real skin and metallic limb seemed to battle for the spotlight.

Steve suddenly felt he should have drawn something else. Maybe Bucky was weirded out that he had been the subject of choice. His hands held onto it gingerly, his eyes still stuck to the image. Bucky seemed uncomfortable, like he had just witnessed something he shouldn't have.

"It-It's nice." Bucky said, clearing his throat. He took a deep breath before handing the paper back to Steve. "It's pretty good."

Just like that, the praise had made Steve beam with pride. He pushed his blonde hair back and shifted anxiously in his seat. "I'm glad you like it." He smiled widely, laying the drawing in his lap.

Bucky's eyes followed the drawing. They were overcome with a certain emptiness Steve had yet to recognize. Sadness? Confusion? Intrigue?

"Yeah." Bucky said quietly. His jaw clenched tightly, his eyes gazing at the drawing in the way someone stares at a car crash on the side of the road. "It's amazing."

 **thank you for reading :) steve and his art are just too cute for me omg. i hope you all enjoyed and please keep reading xox**


	3. Chapter Three

_It's amazing._

Steve couldn't help but gaze at Bucky as he stared at the art. It was a little circle back as the face of the drawing pointed up at him.

He waited patiently for Bucky's eyes to lift off the paper and into his eyes. It seemed like that time would never come; Bucky just sat there, his hands gripping the edge of the chair as he leaned forward, his eyes glazed over with an impossible wonder.

"So," Steve started, which lead to finally getting Bucky's attention. "Do I have the job?"

Bucky cleared his throat, that same action that seemed to keep him centered. "We'll see." With that, he slid off the chair, his feet landing on solid ground. Steve stood up as well, his arms to his chest and holding the pad of paper in between.

Gesturing for Steve to go ahead and walk out, Bucky raised him arm and trailed behind. His hands snaked through his hair, tying it up and then letting it fall to his shoulders again. His fidgets reeked of nerves.

Steve walked out of the curtain room, where he stopped and leaned against the desk once again. Bucky raised a brow to show his judgement before nudging Steve to move. "Wrong side of the counter. You're not working here, yet."

Steve chuckled and moved out of the other man's way. "Yet."

Even as his head was tilted down to rummage through the mess on his desk, Bucky managed to look up at Steve and give him this look through his lashes that he would never forget. His eyes held humor, but a more calm one than he expected-almost belonging. The color of them was intoxicating.

"Right." Bucky rolled his eyes, his hands shuffling around the papers on his desk. He grit his teeth together as somewhere in the back of the shop a phone began to ring. It was annoying and high pitched, like some old landline. "Wait here."

Bucky blew another clump of brown hair from his eyes before turning away. His lean body carried him back down the hall and ducked into a different room of curtains. The phone stopped ringing, and Bucky's voice was softly audible.

Steve looked over the mess on Bucky's desk. It was painful just to look at, really. He walked around behind in, running his hands over them in the same gesture the other man had. He wondered if the papers were still warm where Bucky had touched them .

"Steve!" Bucky looked around the edge of the curtain, the mouth of the phone pressed to his chest to keep it quiet. "This is kinda important, just grab one of the business cards on the desk, will ya?"

It didn't seem like the time to argue, but the heaps of papers on the desk proved that his task would be a difficult one. Steve had this urge to just deny his order and demand Bucky come over himself. Looking at him, Steve knew he couldn't do that.

Raising his hand in a complying gesture, Steve waved Bucky back to his phone call. The brunette sighed and did such that; his gruff voice picked up again as he disappeared into the curtains.

A heavy breath rushed out from Steve's solid chest. His fingers gently nudged the papers, worrying that any slight organization might mess up what perfect chaos Bucky had going on. Keeping one hand casually in his pocket, Steve sifted under the papers in search for even a single business card.

A few fell to the floor. They settled down beside Steve's leg just as his hand hovered over the new found stack of cards. He grabbed a couple-he wanted to argue that he grabbed too many, but he didn't want to risk losing any either-and slipped them in the pocket of his jeans.

Crouching down, Steve scooped the papers on the ground into a small stack and set them back on the desk. His eyes scanned over the mess that ran down even onto the floor, the garbage can over flowing with crumpled papers that seemed to be scrapped.

The one Bucky had tossed earlier lay in the corner. Without realizing it, Steve's hand had snaked out and snatched the wad into his palm. The edges of the paper scratched against his skin, but he kept it gingerly in his hold to prevent further creasing.

"You find one?" Bucky asked again. His upper half looked around the corner, the receiver held to his chest in the same fashion.

Steve didn't scare often, but his heart gave a soft thud as his head snapped back to look at Bucky. He gave a quick nod and silently showed Bucky one of the cards he took.

Sighing in relief, Bucky smiled and nodded his head. Maybe it was Steve, but Bucky's smile seemed to take up half his face. It wasn't delicate, one Steve had to tiptoe around; he felt comfortable enough to smile back, to enjoy Bucky's genuine confidence.

Just like that, Bucky duck around the corner again. Steve had a sudden interest in what that conversation was about. He wanted to stay, to linger around like smoke in the cab of a taxi until Bucky finally opened a window and shooed him away.

With reluctance, Steve pushed himself to his feet and left. His back turned to the door as he nudged it open with his shoulder, waiting for one last glimpse of the other man before he left. Instead, all he got was the sound of Bucky's voice on the phone and the wad of paper stabbing into his palm.

Opening the crumpled paper was like waking up Christmas morning; Steve yearned with a desperation to know what was inside, but he stopped himself before he lost the enjoyment of opening it all together.

The ball of paper was still in Steve's hand as he jogged up the steps to his motel room. His voice let out a soft hiss of disappointment as it crushed a bit against the door while on his way inside. Carefully setting it down on the table by his bed, Steve left it there to sit.

Living in a crapped out hotel wasn't quite as awful as the army, but it was a good step back to domestic life. Looking at it now, he wasn't sure how sleeping in a lump-less bed would feel, or how easy it would be to wake up to washed walls on either side of him.

But if the shower worked, that would have been nice. Steve stole a glance at the wad of paper on his desk as he slipped on his shoes again. He deemed that a safe place for his memento as he jogged downstairs to the lobby.

The chime of the doors as he stepped inside seemed quieter today. But Sam was at the counter, looking somehow enthusiastic for a man stuck in such a hole all day. "Hey." He smiled, his voice much too casual.

Steve smiled feebly and stood before the front desk, his hands in his pockets. "The shower won't work in my room."

Sam drew in a deep breath, and his bitter expression told Steve everything before he even spoke. "The water here was shut off temporarily-"

Steve groaned, lowering his head to the floor in constant aggravation.

"-but it'll be back in a few days." Sam said quickly, his voice high with hopeful promises.

He seemed nice, but there was always more to someone than just "friendly" or "mean." Steve picked up his head again, digging into his reservoir of self restraint and pulling out a weak smile. "How many days?"

Shrugging, Sam drummed his fingers on the counter. "Three, maybe four." He read Steve's pitiful reaction and added, "Though I know a place nearby you can shower at."

"For free?" Steve questioned. He wasn't particularly in the mood to discuss his situation of social security checks that were way to small and a job that wasn't quite a job. Yet.

Sam's eyes darted up at Steve, a kind of calm resilience behind them. "Not exactly." His hands drifted over a small stack of pamphlets on the desk. He picked one up, scooting it across the tabletop to Steve.

"It's a gym. I coach there part time, and I have a feeling you'd do pretty well there considering your training." Sam explained.

Steve had the flyer in his hand, only to look up and give the man a skeptical look. Fishing the dog tags out from under his shirt, Sam laughed quietly. "I know a soldier when I see one."

Steve couldn't help but smile back. "Fair enough." His blue eyes fell back down to the words inscribed on the paper. "You work there, too?"

Nodding, Sam stuff his tags back under his clothing and leaned over the desk to see what Steve was looking at exactly. "Yeah. By hell, it's not like I own this place. It's my ex-girlfriend's uncle's motel, but I just work here when I have to."

Steve's raised eyebrow rose further up as he suppressed a smirk. "Sounds complicated."

The other man just shook his head slightly and laughed. "I promise to tell you more about it when I see you register. For a poor guy like yourself, I'll even give you a discount."

Steve laughed sarcastically. "How generous."

Sam nodded, his smile extremely confident. His optimistic attitude was compelling, no matter what position they were in. His smile returned the grateful genuineness as he folded the pamphlet and slid it into his back pocket. "I'll see you later, then."

"See you later." Sam said in reply. He quickly turned his attention back to the books in front of him. Steve knew he had to be one of the only people staying at this motel, and for a moment all he thought about was what Sam could possibly be doing for all his shift as there certainly wasn't any "work."

As soon as he bolted and chained the door to his room, the flyer came out of his pocket and settled beside Bucky's wad of paper turned souvenir. Forty eight hours back home, and so far Steve had a room with no water, a relentless fondness over a tattooed man, and a wad of paper.

It was good to be home.

 **thanks for reading! fun fact: my dog's name is thor, though it doesn't fit him because he's a seven pound yorkie. shoulda gone with bucky instead, since he's smol and sassy and has nice hair. *sigh* please keep reading! xox don't forget to comment / vote!**


	4. Chapter Four

After a day of procrastination, Steve decided he needed to shower.

He figured he didn't pull off the scruffy homeless man look as well as Bucky did. Ironic, seeming as he _was_ homeless. Steve looked in the mirror, running his hand over the stubble on his jaw in distaste.

The gym Sam had sent him to was only a few blocks away. There was no point in paying for cab fair, so he grabbed a bag of clothes to wash at the laundromat as well and headed out.

When he got there, it didn't look like any neater of a place than the motel Steve was staying at; plain cinderblock exterior with chipped white paint, the sign above the door dingy and matted. It was on the corner, right next to a pastry shop. Go figure.

When Steve walked in, there was a small bed over head which he was not expecting. It made the place seem much more like an antique shop than somewhere people go to sweat and fight. He looked around to find the place somewhat deserted.

There were too empty and old treadmills sitting in the corner, various sand filled punching bags hung up from the low ceiling. They hung perfectly still like no one had touched them in a while. Steve was _really_ being to trust these people's recommendations.

"Hello?" Steve asked, looking around through the open space.

The door to the break room opened up with a loud creak, and a small redhead walked out lazily. Her face was bored, but Steve didn't blame her.

"Are you lost?" She asked with a heavy sigh, drumming her fingers on the table.

 _Seriously, what happened to hospitality?_ Steve shook his head. "Guy told me to come here. I can shower or something..?"

The girl nodded, scanning her eyes over Steve in a generous once-through. "Yeah. Who was it?" She asked, the idea that anyone actually recommended this place foreign to her. "I.D. please."

Steve dug out his wallet and slid it over the counter. "His name's Sam." He said plainly. There was a silent moment when he wasn't sure what else to say.

The girl loudly smacked her gum before sliding him his I.D. back. "He's a good guy, I wouldn't put it past him to send someone to this dump. Locker room is on the left hall, the showers are open."

Steve glanced over his shoulder to where she directed him. She didn't seem too pushy about making him pay or sign up. Just a stupid I.D. "Thanks." He said before walking away.

Somehow, there was nothing more revitalizing than a freezing cold shower. His skin ached a little from the chill, but his blue eyes shot open, wide awake. His hands pushed through his hair; it got a little longer everyday.

The showers turned off with another loud squeak. The silence around Steve was uncomfortable. He wasn't alone like in his suite, or at Bucky's place where the air conditioning made the little whirs. He was in a public place, and the silence only seemed louder.

He made sure to dry off quickly before grabbing his last fresh pair of clothes and slipping them on. He hadn't done laundry in so long, event his army bag began to smell. Steve groaned to himself as he gathered his things and walked out.

As Steve was walking out, he turned the corner back into the main room and ran smack into another figure. Steve shook his head, muttering apologies as he helped the redhead gain her balance. "Sorry."

The redhead sighed, brushing off her clothes before looking up at him. "It's fine, I shouldn't have been standing there. I was just wondering how much longer you'd be. There are exterminators coming soon."

Steve shivered softly. _I showered in there._ He cracked a smile and pushed past her. "I'll see you sometime later, then. Bye."

The redhead didn't say anything as he left. She made him feel a little more than uncomfortable.

The bell above the door in the tattoo shop fit better than it did in the gym, but it was still off. It was too peppy and high; maybe a guitar riff would have suited the aura better.

Instead of Bucky, a long haired blonde man sat at the front desk. He looked up at Steve, and his smile was oddly comforting. "What can I do for ya?" His thick Australian accent flowed into Steve like music.

Clearing his throat, Steve awkwardly stood in front of the counter. "Uh, I'm here to see a friend. His name's Bucky."

The blonde man whistled and looked down at his desk. "Well-"

"We're not friends." Bucky said quickly, walking out from a curtained room. The blonde swiveled in his office chair to look at his boss. "But I'm glad you're comfortable."

Steve swallowed the slowly forming lump in his throat. "Right." He said sheepishly.

A small brunette came out from the same curtained room Bucky was in. Her face was a bit pale, and her inked arm was covered in plastic wrap. She walked up beside Steve, staring at him nervously as she went to pay for her tattoo.

All this time in Brooklyn and that was probably the first time someone had actually made the first move to notice Steve. He stepped away from her and looked at Bucky as the man said, "So you got my call?"

Steve's face was blank. When he finally registered what Bucky said, he shook his head. "What call?"

Bucky took a deep breath, and the blonde guy flashed a nervous but charismatic smile up at his boss. "You're a terrible receptionist. Literally, all you need to do is pick up a phone."

The blonde man shrugged helplessly. "But there's so many neat people here, I get easily distracted..." His voice trailed off as he turned to smile at the girl paying.

"Dammit!" Bucky swore, but the blonde just casually went on as if it was normal. Bucky turned back to Steve and clenched his jaw. "He was supposed to call you telling you that you can have the job."

Normally, Steve would have been thrilled at the idea of an actual paycheck. Under the circumstances, he too seemed a little _distracted_ by everything around him. "Really?"

Bucky inhaled deeply. "No, I was joking, you should go milk goats instead- _of course_ really." He retorted.

Steve couldn't help but smile. As amusing as he was, when Bucky pushed back the few lose strands of hair sticking out of his ponytail, his face was a bit dim. When he smiled, it was fake. "If you didn't get the call why are you here?"

His eyes watched Bucky's tattooed arms cross his chest before realizing he had asked a question. Steve shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I was doing laundry and I got bored waiting, so I came to see-"

Steve wasn't sure why exactly he did go there. Sure it was close by, and there were people he knew there, but if he didn't get a call, things would seem much more creepy than he hoped. "-if I got the job or not." He finished quietly.

Bucky seemed to have lost interest in the latter. "You were doing laundry?" Steve nodded. "And you just left your laundry alone in some sketchy part of Brooklyn?"

Steve nodded again.

Bucky shook his head and laughed. He took Steve by the arm, his hand gripped over his forearm. "This isn't the 1940's, okay? You can't just leave your doors unlocked at night."

Before Steve could protest, Bucky pushed the tall blonde through the door and looked over his shoulder, calling, "I'm taking my lunch break, be back in an hour" to the receptionist.

The long haired blonde flashed a thumbs up and an opaque white smile.

Steve kept walking as Bucky pushed him out the door. He didn't think he'd ever get used to Bucky's level of feistiness. The brunette moved his hand away from Steve's arm, and for a moment he wasn't sure what to do now. Steve brushed the spot on his arm where Bucky held to make the lingering fade.

"Are you sure you lived in Brooklyn before?" Bucky asked, turning his head to look up at Steve.

Nodding, Steve tried to look at anywhere except for his eyes. Even with a jawline overgrown with stubble, with thin lips pulled into a taught smile, he couldn't seem to look anywhere except those eyes. "Yeah." Steve managed at last.

"I lived here my whole life, but you know the story." Steve said, vaguely remembering their time in the parlor together. He wondered what Bucky did with the portrait Steve drew. "What about you?"

Bucky chewed the side of his lip as if he were debating what parts to tell. "I lived a few miles out of town. Stayed there basically my whole life." He said. His tone was a bit pitiful, and Steve wondered if Bucky wasn't exactly proud of that.

"How'd you get into tattooing?" He asked, hoping that would change the subject.

Luckily, Bucky did seem more comfortable with the change of pace. "I didn't graduate high school. I mean, I wasn't stupid, I just didn't try." He added the last part quickly. "I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but I came across a parlor when I was seventeen and first needed a job."

Steve smiled softly. "I think I could relate."

Bucky nodded, his smile ginger. "Soon as I got enough money, I moved to Brooklyn and started my own shop."

Steve looked up as they came across the laundromat. Holding the door open, Steve let Bucky pass inside first. "So you just ran away?" Steve mocked Bucky's very words.

The brunette raised an eyebrow before growing a cocky smile. "I didn't run away." He said, over exaggerating his New York accent as he slid inside with a posh grace.

Steve chuckled and followed him inside. He stood in front of his washing machine, which Bucky was staring at as if it was amazing that all his clothes were actually still inside. He pried open the door, sifting clothing from the washer to the dryer.

Bucky leaned his arm on the corner of the machine. It was clear he didn't want to help; the only service he provided was laying his head down on his arm and watching with an intent smile as Steve did his laundry.

"Stop laughing at me." Steve ordered, tossing a shirt into the dryer.

The brunette chuckled and shook his head. "I can't help it kid, you're just so oblivious." He sighed, and Steve shot him a dirty look to which Bucky pursed his lips in surrender and said, "What? It's cute. Like a lost puppy."

Steve's face flushed red. As much as he tried to ignore it, he couldn't shake the feeling of Bucky's eyes staring at him. He slammed the dryer door shut, making Bucky jump a little, and felt around his pockets for his wallet.

It wasn't there, and Steve looked around nervously.

"Did you seriously lose you money?" Bucky asked, genuinely interested. Despite his broad smile, he had a sincerity to his eyes that surprisingly comforted Steve. "Lost puppy, I swear."

Steve shook his head as he began to panic. "But-" He cut himself short. Instead, he mimicked Bucky's earlier actions and grabbed his arm, dragging the two of them out the door and down the sidewalk.

"I left it at my gym." Steve murmured, trying not to sound too upset.

"The gym?" Bucky asked slowly. His eyes scanned over Steve's body before shrugging and realizing that it seemed possible enough. "How'd you pay for your washing machine, then?"

Steve shrugged. "I had spare change on me."

Bucky's head tilted back with laughter. "A ninety year old dog trapped in a puppy's body. Must be rough." He said, before laughing again. "Get it, rough?"

"I get it." Steve snapped, clearly not having as much fun as Bucky was.

He ran inside the gym as soon as they got there, the bell above the door sounding just as foreign as it did earlier. "Wait here." He instructed Bucky before running into the locker rooms.

Steve crouched down, looking over the benches and on the floor. He checked _every_ locker and even in the shower stalls themselves before realizing he couldn't find it. _It has to be-_

The redhead. When they crashed into each other, she had to have taken it. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but there was almost no other way. Maybe he was too stubborn to think he dropped it somewhere.

Steve walked out of the locker room, ready to call out the redhead and ask her if she'd seen it, but he wasn't a big fan of what he saw; Bucky stood frigid with his arms crossed, the redhead leaned over the desk and staring up at him with sad eyes. She even murmured his name quietly.

Any memories of Bucky's voice calling Steve oddly insulting compliments flew from his head. "You know each other?" Steve asked. It felt awkward to break the silence.

Bucky clenched his jaw, nervously looking away from her. "Can we leave?" He asked.

He seemed genuinely in pain; there was a sadness in his eyes, but his jaw was grit with anger. There was nothing Steve wanted more than to leave, but he was never one for running away.

"Did you steal my wallet?" Steve blurted out, furrowing his brows in aggravation as he looked at her.

Bucky looked down at his shoes. "Probably. Natasha's got kind of a reputation."

Steve's chest ached as his heart began to race. She got him to call her by her first name? She got that completely interested look in his eyes? Steve couldn't help but be a little jealous. _This is going to be a long day._

 **thank you for reading! i promise not to make nat an awful person, it'll be explained :) don't forget to comment + vote**


	5. Chapter Five

The next time Steve saw Bucky wasn't exactly during work hours. Saying it like that made it sound scandalous, but it was the exact wording the dark haired man used when he opened up the parlor doors to Steve at two in the morning.

It started when Steve couldn't sleep. He had been laying in that slightly questionable motel bed for hours, all spent just staring at the chipped plaster on the ceiling. One hand behind his head, Steve ran his fingers over the hair on the nape of his neck.

That's when he started thinking. By God, thinking in the middle of the night was the worst possible thing he could have done, but he couldn't stop it.

His fingers grazing over the back of his own neck, Steve wondered if the tattooed skin on Bucky's left hand felt different than the raw flesh of his right. It was a stupid thought, yet it was one that made his skin ridge with bumps.

Steve hadn't noticed he had begun to sweat. _When did my heart start beating like that?_ Figuring his adrenaline was already coursing, Steve rolled out of his bed, grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, and went out for a jog.

The ground was slightly wet from a light rain earlier, but other than that, it was fine. Even on the edges of Brooklyn, it was fairly busy; people still walked along the sidewalks, laughter echoing down the streets as people passed out of bars.

Steve's footsteps echoed rhythmically across the street as he passed by streetlamp after street lamp. His mind struggling to focus on anything other than Bucky, his legs pushed him faster along the sidewalk.

Even as he tried to shut off his mind, Steve's legs seemed to know where to go. His pace slowed down as Steve gradually fell to a walk, panting as he stood in front of the tattoo parlor. Everything was dark inside albeit a single security light in the back.

More laughter echoed out behind him as people flooded drunkenly onto the streets. Steve saw them through the reflection in the glass as they staggered to the curb and flagged down taxis. Most the shapes went there on way, but one silhouette drifted towards him.

"Isn't it a little past your bedtime, grandpa?" Bucky's voice was lazier at this time of night, almost groggy like he just woke up.

Steve was still catching his breath when he spun around to face Bucky. The dark haired man smiled softly, but Steve felt like doubling over and taking a moment to catch his breath again when Bucky did that. "Forgot to take my meds. Couldn't sleep."

Bucky cracked a smile. His hair was down, and his hand pushed back the slightly greasy locks of hair from his face. "You'd probably keep up the whole block with your snoring, anyway." He mused.

The blonde smiled weakly. He spent a moment inspecting Bucky's eyes in this new light; they definitely looked more brown now, but every so often the light from the street lamps would catch a shade of blue and mix it into a hazel puddle.

Bucky raised his hand and made a notion to the door of his shop. "Keeping an eye on things for me?"

Turning back to look inside, Steve shrugged his broad shoulders. "Someone had to."

Steve had a feeling he said the wrong thing since Bucky's eyes averted down to his feet. He let out a deep sigh, and the smell of alcohol on his breath drifted through the night air towards Steve. The blonde was about to open his mouth, finding some witty remark to say that would hopefully make Bucky smile, but the other man did first.

"Want to come inside? I need to sit down and you look like Jason's been chasing you for the past hour." Bucky said, his head cocked to the side and his eyes blinking slowly with the sign of intoxication.

Steve furrowed his brows. "Jason?" He murmured as if to say _really_? He'd been running for less than twenty minutes. He shook his head at Bucky's analogy as the brunette brushed past him to open up the door to the parlor.

He came closer to Steve, and the smell of booze grew more pungent in the air. Steve's eyes fell sadly when he imagined what Bucky was possibly up to earlier.

Bucky lead them inside and locked the door up after them again. When Steve gave him a skeptical look, Bucky made another serial-killer-Jason reference, though Steve doubted anyone would bother robbing a grotty tattoo parlor.

After grabbing two pads of paper and a couple felt pens off the desk, Bucky pressed his back against the reception desk and slid down until his butt hit the floor. He let out a deep sigh of relief as he sat there, eventually shifted over and sliding onto his stomach.

Steve joined him on the ground. He sat beside Bucky, his back against the desk and his long legs stretched out in front of him. Snagging a pad of paper from Bucky, Steve laid it on his lap.

Bucky uncapped on marker before deciding it wasn't the brush size he wanted and threw it at Steve instead. It would have been a little humorous, but Bucky was drunk enough that he didn't find it funny.

Steve grabbed the marker Bucky threw at him and frowned. "You got ink on my sweatshirt."

"So?"

"It's my favorite sweatshirt."

Silence. "It's a plain grey sweatshirt. You can buy them in bulk at your nearest homeless shelter." Bucky said slowly, taking his time to enunciate each word like a child.

Steve scoffed with a light smile. He just shook his head as he and Bucky began to draw. For quite a while, the only sound was the scratching of nibs against paper sheets, and the smell of ink began to replace the scent of beer.

"Did you like her?" Bucky asked, his feet swinging up in the air as he laid on his stomach. Doodling on his paper like that, Steve thought he looked like a girl from an eighties movie writing in her diary.

Steve furrowed his brows in confusion. Without even looking up, Bucky got the gist and continued. "Natasha? Before all that went down, what did you think of her?"

Steve stopped drawing. He hadn't really thought about it. "I didn't think of her." He said simply, his wide-set shoulders shrugging nonchalantly. "What about you? What did she used to be like?"

What Steve really wanted to ask was what Bucky used to be like. Was he always that guy with the long hair and the dismissive attitude? Steve liked to believe he was different back then. Wasn't everybody?

Bucky kept making like flicks along his paper as he shaded a section of his drawing. "She was really sweet. But life does that to ya. One moment, you're a flower girl spreading petals down the isle of your aunt's wedding, and the next moment your pick-pocketing for next month's rent."

Steve had never felt like that. He'd had things fairly well; and _that_ was coming from an orphan boy to grew up into a homeless veteran. Maybe he was too optimistic for Bucky's taste.

"You're right." Steve said, only to snicker later, "I always imagined your childhood as one being tied in pastel dresses and being mistaken for a girl with that kind of hair."

Bucky scoffed, which turned into a drunken hiccup. "Believe it or not, kid, but I didn't always have this mop." He said, twirling his finger around some of his hair.

Definitely a girl in an eighties movie.

Bucky picked his head up to look at Steve. "You think about my childhood often?" He asked, his hazel eyes narrowed.

Steve's heart began to race again. "Only when I think about what kinda children I never want to have."

Bucky uncapped another marker and threw it at him.

The shaggy bits of hair fell around Bucky's face like a veil as he looked down and continued drawing. "Why'd you fall in love with her?" Steve asked. He wasn't even interested in drawing anymore.

Bucky's shoulders moved heavily up and down, and for a moment Steve wondered if Bucky's heartbeat matched his own. "She was different back then. I was different. Things change." He added the last two words after a pause.

Steve looked down blankly at his half-finished drawing. Bucky seemed to hate the silence just as much as the other man, and said, "Romance is so fucked up."

The blonde snapped his head towards Bucky. "What do you mean?" His interest grew, and Steve tucked his legs into his chest.

Bucky kept scribbling, but his strokes became sloppy. "It's all people ever care about. They think about it from the time when their kids to the time they die. It's like their entire life just revolves around finding someone else."

"What's so bad about that?"

"Because it's not fair. Why do some people get everything they've ever asked for, and other people are stuck digging through the scraps?" Bucky's voice broke, and his hand gripped the pen so tight it made a thick gash on his paper.

The brunette sighed. "Why are some people so picky when it comes to love? And-and why are some people willing to take whatever comes to them first?" He hiccupped again and winced like it hurt.

Steve had never thought about it. The idea of romance was one that had never really stuck well with him growing up. "Things just happen. You know, some people are right in between. It's called normal." Steve laughed softly.

Bucky just scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Tell me when you meet someone 'normal.' I'll need to see it to believe it." He murmured spitefully.

 _Dammit, I'm right here_. Steve looked back down at his paper, tracing over lines he already drew. He feared trying to finish it would ruin it.

Bucky began to laugh. "God, what were we talking about? Never mind, just forget it anyway." He waved his hand dismissively. "I'm drunk."

Steve just sighed. "You think?" He chuckled, shaking his head at the other man. Either Bucky was _really, really_ drunk, or he was just sober enough to know that he had said things he would regret in the morning.

"Good night, Steve." Bucky yawned, crossing his arms and laying his head on them like a pillow.

Steve opened his mouth in protest, bolting forward and kneeling in front of Bucky to stop him from falling asleep. But low and behold, the drunk man had already begun to snore.

With a heavy sigh, Steve laid back against the desk. His head hit it with a thud as he sat there tiredly, tapping his pen to his sketchbook. Bucky burped, and the smell of alcohol drifted up again.

Steve wanted to call Bucky disgusting, but it was the hardest thing he had ever attempted. Bucky truly was something else: a mix of apathy, regrets, and sporadic behavior easily characterized as artistic all thrown into one beautiful man.

Bucky burped again. The other man sighed. "Good night, Buck."


	6. Chapter Six

The next time Steve saw Bucky wasn't exactly during work hours. Saying it like that made it sound scandalous, but it was the exact wording the dark haired man used when he opened up the parlor doors to Steve at two in the morning.

It started when Steve couldn't sleep. He had been laying in that slightly questionable motel bed for hours, all spent just staring at the chipped plaster on the ceiling. One hand behind his head, Steve ran his fingers over the hair on the nape of his neck.

That's when he started thinking. By God, thinking in the middle of the night was the worst possible thing he could have done, but he couldn't stop it.

His fingers grazing over the back of his own neck, Steve wondered if the tattooed skin on Bucky's left hand felt different than the raw flesh of his right. It was a stupid thought, yet it was one that made his skin ridge with bumps.

Steve hadn't noticed he had begun to sweat. _When did my heart start beating like that?_ Figuring his adrenaline was already coursing, Steve rolled out of his bed, grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, and went out for a jog.

The ground was slightly wet from a light rain earlier, but other than that, it was fine. Even on the edges of Brooklyn, it was fairly busy; people still walked along the sidewalks, laughter echoing down the streets as people passed out of bars.

Steve's footsteps echoed rhythmically across the street as he passed by streetlamp after street lamp. His mind struggling to focus on anything other than Bucky, his legs pushed him faster along the sidewalk.

Even as he tried to shut off his mind, Steve's legs seemed to know where to go. His pace slowed down as Steve gradually fell to a walk, panting as he stood in front of the tattoo parlor. Everything was dark inside albeit a single security light in the back.

More laughter echoed out behind him as people flooded drunkenly onto the streets. Steve saw them through the reflection in the glass as they staggered to the curb and flagged down taxis. Most the shapes went there on way, but one silhouette drifted towards him.

"Isn't it a little past your bedtime, grandpa?" Bucky's voice was lazier at this time of night, almost groggy like he just woke up.

Steve was still catching his breath when he spun around to face Bucky. The dark haired man smiled softly, but Steve felt like doubling over and taking a moment to catch his breath again when Bucky did that. "Forgot to take my meds. Couldn't sleep."

Bucky cracked a smile. His hair was down, and his hand pushed back the slightly greasy locks of hair from his face. "You'd probably keep up the whole block with your snoring, anyway." He mused.

The blonde smiled weakly. He spent a moment inspecting Bucky's eyes in this new light; they definitely looked more brown now, but every so often the light from the street lamps would catch a shade of blue and mix it into a hazel puddle.

Bucky raised his hand and made a notion to the door of his shop. "Keeping an eye on things for me?"

Turning back to look inside, Steve shrugged his broad shoulders. "Someone had to."

Steve had a feeling he said the wrong thing since Bucky's eyes averted down to his feet. He let out a deep sigh, and the smell of alcohol on his breath drifted through the night air towards Steve. The blonde was about to open his mouth, finding some witty remark to say that would hopefully make Bucky smile, but the other man did first.

"Want to come inside? I need to sit down and you look like Jason's been chasing you for the past hour." Bucky said, his head cocked to the side and his eyes blinking slowly with the sign of intoxication.

Steve furrowed his brows. "Jason?" He murmured as if to say _really_? He'd been running for less than twenty minutes. He shook his head at Bucky's analogy as the brunette brushed past him to open up the door to the parlor.

He came closer to Steve, and the smell of booze grew more pungent in the air. Steve's eyes fell sadly when he imagined what Bucky was possibly up to earlier.

Bucky lead them inside and locked the door up after them again. When Steve gave him a skeptical look, Bucky made another serial-killer-Jason reference, though Steve doubted anyone would bother robbing a grotty tattoo parlor.

After grabbing two pads of paper and a couple felt pens off the desk, Bucky pressed his back against the reception desk and slid down until his butt hit the floor. He let out a deep sigh of relief as he sat there, eventually shifted over and sliding onto his stomach.

Steve joined him on the ground. He sat beside Bucky, his back against the desk and his long legs stretched out in front of him. Snagging a pad of paper from Bucky, Steve laid it on his lap.

Bucky uncapped on marker before deciding it wasn't the brush size he wanted and threw it at Steve instead. It would have been a little humorous, but Bucky was drunk enough that he didn't find it funny.

Steve grabbed the marker Bucky threw at him and frowned. "You got ink on my sweatshirt."

"So?"

"It's my favorite sweatshirt."

Silence. "It's a plain grey sweatshirt. You can buy them in bulk at your nearest homeless shelter." Bucky said slowly, taking his time to enunciate each word like a child.

Steve scoffed with a light smile. He just shook his head as he and Bucky began to draw. For quite a while, the only sound was the scratching of nibs against paper sheets, and the smell of ink began to replace the scent of beer.

"Did you like her?" Bucky asked, his feet swinging up in the air as he laid on his stomach. Doodling on his paper like that, Steve thought he looked like a girl from an eighties movie writing in her diary.

Steve furrowed his brows in confusion. Without even looking up, Bucky got the gist and continued. "Natasha? Before all that went down, what did you think of her?"

Steve stopped drawing. He hadn't really thought about it. "I didn't think of her." He said simply, his wide-set shoulders shrugging nonchalantly. "What about you? What did she used to be like?"

What Steve really wanted to ask was what Bucky used to be like. Was he always that guy with the long hair and the dismissive attitude? Steve liked to believe he was different back then. Wasn't everybody?

Bucky kept making like flicks along his paper as he shaded a section of his drawing. "She was really sweet. But life does that to ya. One moment, you're a flower girl spreading petals down the isle of your aunt's wedding, and the next moment your pick-pocketing for next month's rent."

Steve had never felt like that. He'd had things fairly well; and _that_ was coming from an orphan boy to grew up into a homeless veteran. Maybe he was too optimistic for Bucky's taste.

"You're right." Steve said, only to snicker later, "I always imagined your childhood as one being tied in pastel dresses and being mistaken for a girl with that kind of hair."

Bucky scoffed, which turned into a drunken hiccup. "Believe it or not, kid, but I didn't always have this mop." He said, twirling his finger around some of his hair.

Definitely a girl in an eighties movie.

Bucky picked his head up to look at Steve. "You think about my childhood often?" He asked, his hazel eyes narrowed.

Steve's heart began to race again. "Only when I think about what kinda children I never want to have."

Bucky uncapped another marker and threw it at him.

The shaggy bits of hair fell around Bucky's face like a veil as he looked down and continued drawing. "Why'd you fall in love with her?" Steve asked. He wasn't even interested in drawing anymore.

Bucky's shoulders moved heavily up and down, and for a moment Steve wondered if Bucky's heartbeat matched his own. "She was different back then. I was different. Things change." He added the last two words after a pause.

Steve looked down blankly at his half-finished drawing. Bucky seemed to hate the silence just as much as the other man, and said, "Romance is so fucked up."

The blonde snapped his head towards Bucky. "What do you mean?" His interest grew, and Steve tucked his legs into his chest.

Bucky kept scribbling, but his strokes became sloppy. "It's all people ever care about. They think about it from the time when their kids to the time they die. It's like their entire life just revolves around finding someone else."

"What's so bad about that?"

"Because it's not fair. Why do some people get everything they've ever asked for, and other people are stuck digging through the scraps?" Bucky's voice broke, and his hand gripped the pen so tight it made a thick gash on his paper.

The brunette sighed. "Why are some people so picky when it comes to love? And-and why are some people willing to take whatever comes to them first?" He hiccupped again and winced like it hurt.

Steve had never thought about it. The idea of romance was one that had never really stuck well with him growing up. "Things just happen. You know, some people are right in between. It's called normal." Steve laughed softly.

Bucky just scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Tell me when you meet someone 'normal.' I'll need to see it to believe it." He murmured spitefully.

 _Dammit, I'm right here_. Steve looked back down at his paper, tracing over lines he already drew. He feared trying to finish it would ruin it.

Bucky began to laugh. "God, what were we talking about? Never mind, just forget it anyway." He waved his hand dismissively. "I'm drunk."

Steve just sighed. "You think?" He chuckled, shaking his head at the other man. Either Bucky was _really, really_ drunk, or he was just sober enough to know that he had said things he would regret in the morning.

"Good night, Steve." Bucky yawned, crossing his arms and laying his head on them like a pillow.

Steve opened his mouth in protest, bolting forward and kneeling in front of Bucky to stop him from falling asleep. But low and behold, the drunk man had already begun to snore.

With a heavy sigh, Steve laid back against the desk. His head hit it with a thud as he sat there tiredly, tapping his pen to his sketchbook. Bucky burped, and the smell of alcohol drifted up again.

Steve wanted to call Bucky disgusting, but it was the hardest thing he had ever attempted. Bucky truly was something else: a mix of apathy, regrets, and sporadic behavior easily characterized as artistic all thrown into one beautiful man.

Bucky burped again. The other man sighed. "Good night, Buck."


	7. Chapter Seven

Steve woke up to the smell of pop tarts and hair so blonde he thought someone was shining a flashlight in his face.

His blue eyes widened into saucers as he came back to reality to find Thor's heavily-breathing chewing-with-his-mouth-open face just inches away from his own. The Aussie tried his best to smile with a mouth crammed full of food.

"Morning, sunshine." Thor beamed as he crouched over Steve's outstretched legs.

A sensation of vertigo washed over Steve from his sudden awakening as he looked around him. Bucky still had his head planted in his hands. At least he'd gotten use to the smell of alcohol; Thor didn't seem phased by it.

"Morning." Steve said slowly, dragging out each letter with care as he watched Thor stand up.

The Aussie shoved the last bite of his pop tart in his mouth as he nudged Bucky with the toe of his shoe. Bucky just groaned and kept sleeping.

"Does this happen often?" Steve asked. He drew his legs into his chest as he began to stand up.

Thor shrugged, walking around the front desk and grabbing a pair of folded jeans and a plain white V-neck t-shirt from a drawer. He kicked the drawer closed and gestured at Bucky. "Not often, but enough. First time this happened, I woke him up by pouring yesterday's cold coffee on him."

"Bad idea?" Steve guessed.

The Aussie nodded. "One shower later, and his hair looked _great_ , though."

All Steve could think about for the rest of his day was Thor washing his hair with coffee grounds after realizing it worked that well. He did have rather healthy looking locks...

"Steve?" Thor snapped his fingers and looked at the other man with a skeptical look. "I said wake him up please."

Steve wasn't too sure he wanted to agree to that. "Why me?"

"He fell asleep with you. Seems only right you wake 'em up, too." Thor grumbled. He turned away and walked to the back before pulling another pop tart from the back pocket of his jeans.

Steve sighed deeply as he looked down at the man sleeping on the floor. _Who looks homeless now, punk_? He wanted to say that when he woke Bucky up, but he feared the wrath of the slightly intoxicated tattooed man. Steve just crouched down and gently shook his shoulder instead.

" Bucky." Steve said plainly, trying to roll his sleeping figure over. "Wake up, jerk."

As if hearing the insult in his sleep was enough to make the man angry, Bucky blinked his eyes up and growled at Steve. "What'd you call me?"

Steve let go of Bucky and stood up. "I called you a jerk. Now stop drooling on your draft paper and change your clothes."

Bucky rubbed his face with one of his hands as he squinted up at Steve. He could tell the light was irritating his eyes. Both of them stared at each other with a bored kind of amusement. The blonde put his hands on his hips.

Laughing, Bucky managed a wide smile amidst his hungover stupor. "Grow your hair out a few inches, and you could pass as a middle aged suburban mom on her way home from pilates."

Steve grit his jaw and pushed the neatly folded clothing off the counter and onto Bucky. "You smell awful."

Bucky's smile faded into a tired expression, one beyond just a simple lack of sleep. "I'll shower."

Steve furrowed his brows. "You have a shower here?"

There was a soft buzzing sound as Thor fired up a pot of coffee from the other end of the parlor. "Actually, it was just a hose in the bathroom for fire emergencies, but the plumbers never moved it when we had the place renovated, so Bucky turned it into a shower."

It was hard to believe _that_ parlor was considered a renovation. He would have hated to see what the downgrade was before it. "How long have you worked here?" Steve asked Thor curiously.

Thor brought a mug of coffee to his lips. The new coffee was still brewing, and Steve's stomach churned when he realized that was day old cold coffee from last night. "Technically, longer than him." Thor said, pointing to Bucky's feet, which he could just barely see from around the desk.

"He worked here before I bought it out from some other guy." Bucky groaned like sitting up was the hardest thing he'd ever done. "He looked so pathetic I couldn't fire him, and I needed employees anyway.

Thor beamed proudly at the mention of being called pathetic. "Yeah, boss is a real swell guy." He cooed with a catalog worthy smile. Bucky just huffed.

The brunette managed to push himself up to his feet, hugging his sloppily re-folded clothing to his chest tightly. Bucky leaned against the reception desk until he gained his balance and moved away. "Whatever. I'm going to shower."

Steve just watched him walk away. It was honestly a painful sight: Bucky still hung over and aching. What made it worse was that Thor acted like it was as simply as taking the dog out for a walk.

Once Bucky closed the bathroom door behind him, Steve's shoulders slumped. He felt like he could finally relax; having Bucky around made him feel like he actually _was_ a mom. It was annoying, to say the least.

"Cheer up." Thor chuckled as he dropped his empty Styrofoam cup into the trash. "Bucky'll be fine. Unless it's something else. Does your back hurt from sleeping on the floor? You know, I learned this great massage techni-"

"My back feels fine." Steve said sternly, and the mom feeling washed over him again. He cleared his throat. "Thank you, but no thank you."

That only made the Aussie chuckle even more. "He can handle his liquor. He's not a kid."

Steve walked around the desk and sat in the receptionist's swivel chair lazily. "Doesn't seem like it to me.

Thor shrugged his shoulders and sauntered over to Steve. "You're the first sober and responsible adult he's brought home though." He said with a laugh.

Steve was too caught up on the mention that the parlor was 'home' to Bucky for a moment to say anything else. "He brings people back often?"

The long haired man pursed his lips in thought as he leaned over the desk, standing on the opposite side so he looked like a very lazy and dazed costumer. "About every one or two weeks."

"And?" He felt like a child for asking, but Steve couldn't help his curiosity.

Thor chuckled lowly, folding his arms over the front of the desk. "I don't know. They're always hung over-at least a little-but other than that, nothing. Not sure if they have sex, but I always clean the counters just to be sure." Thor patted the desk with an impish grin.

Steve's face heated up like a flare stick. "You do that every week?"

The other man just shrugged. "Every day, just to be sure. And hygienic." He stated proudly. "The other guys he brings back usually are bit sketchy. Who knows what's on them.

As Thor made a dramatic little shiver to show his distaste, Steve raised a brow. "Guys?"

"Oh, you know what I meant. It's just a term." Thor rolled his eyes. "Bucky really doesn't seem to have a type though. He brings back almost anyone: man, woman, whatever the hell is in between." Thor chuckled at the finish.

Steve looked down at Thor's little workspace of a desk in hopes it would keep the other man from laughing at him again. It didn't really work. "Why do you like him so much?" Thor asked. He laid his chin in his hands, and Steve could practically see the dog ears and tail wagging behind him.

Tilting his head up, Steve knew that oddly calm look on the other man's face meant that he couldn't lie about it. This suddenly felt like a therapy session with a frat boy.

"I don't know." Steve bit down on the side of his cheek. "There's just a lot about him."

"He's a mess."

"Aren't we all?"

Thor's imaginary tell kept wagging behind him, slowing swishing as his puppy eyes begged Steve to confess more. "He's like a walking art book."

The Aussie scoffed. "That's a pretty shit coloring book."

"He's fine." Steve retorted, and Thor's smile upturned a little bit. Steve ignored it and kept talking. "It's just the person that filled it in that sucked."

Thor hummed. "That's poetic." He mused. "So what do his pages look like then?"

"Thanks." Steve grinned slightly, slightly relieved Thor actually invested into the analogy. He was rather full of surprises. "I don't know. Just a hell of a lot of scribbling."

Thor threw his head back and literally laughed out loud. "Sounds about right. I'd hate to see what mine is like then."

Steve shook his head as he smiled. "Same thing, just _a lot_ more color."

Thor stood back up and stretched out his back. "Seems like you were the lucky one who got to color inside the lines then." He stuck his tongue out at Steve. "Sounds boring."

The smile on Steve's face seemed to both falter and grow at the same time. How, he wasn't even sure. "Boring doesn't sound very lucky."

Thor pouted his lips teasingly. "Just depends on how you look at it really. Some-"

"Thor." Bucky's gritty voice echoed across the empty parlor. His face was filled with exhaustion, and Steve's face reddened even more when he thought about how much Bucky may have heard. Bucky didn't seem to care. "Open up the doors. People are supposed to be here soon."

The Aussie nodded and traced his footsteps back to the front door, where he turned on a little neon sign that read 'OPEN.' As he was turning back to Bucky, the brunette blushed and looked down. "And grab me a pair of boxers out of the drawer."

Thor smiled cockily as he walked over and stood beside the drawer. Steve pushed his chair away, not wanting to be associated with it.

Bucky growled. "Thor. Now."

Steve would have probably nervously sweated out of fear from Bucky's harsh glare, but Thor just smiled, reached down, and pulled another article of clothing from the drawer before kicking it closed. He walked closer and tossed it to Bucky.

"Hurry up, boss. First canvas in half an hour." Thor told him, but Bucky just growled and retreated back into the bathroom.

Thor sighed. He turned back to Steve and glared at him as he stuck his hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans. "Well? Get out of my chair, some of us have work to do. Scoot."

As Thor shooed him away, Steve jumped up before the other man actually sat on him; he didn't doubt Thor would do that in the slightest. "What do I do?"

The Aussie looked up at him like Steve was crazy. "I'm not your boss. But you smell like shit too, so I'd advise a shower for you as well. Maybe an article of clothing that isn't made from sweat fabric."

Steve grit his jaw. "Whatever. I'll be back in an hour."

"For what?" Thor laughed softly.

The bell overhead chimed as Steve pushed open the door. "I do have a job here, now."

Thor just scoffed. "You're not licensed to tattoo."

"You can pay me to draw on your arms in permanent marker."

"Sounds good, mate."


	8. Chapter Eight

Steve wasn't sure if it was his generosity or Thor's insatiable hunger, but when he came back with a fast-food breakfast bag, the Aussie nearly kissed him.

"The tiny burritos are my favorite." Thor cooed. He immediately grabbed the drive-thru bag from Steve and dug around in it. Eventually, his hand retreated to pull out a breakfast burrito he long for.

Steve couldn't help but smile at the other man with childish amusement. "Happy?"

Replying with an already full mouth of food, Thor garbled, "Very."

Things didn't seem quite right. There was the lack of a particularly grumpy presence in the building. As if on cue, one of the back curtains opened to show Bucky peering his head out at the two blondes in his waiting room.

"You brought breakfast?" Bucky asked, his voice nothing more than bored.

Steve nodded, but before he could answer properly Thor turned around and shouted with glee, "Join us for tiny burritos, Buck."

The brunette sighed again, broad shoulders laid back in their usual slumped over position. "It's Bucky." He grumbled. He stepped out of the private tattooing room, pulling off some black latex gloves from his hands. "And that food is nothing but grease and fat."

Both Thor and Steve were silent a moment. The parlor was silent albeit Thor's loud chewing. Bucky tossed the used gloves into the trash. "What?" He cleared his throat and continued: "Thor, put in another order more needles. We're running low."

"Yeah, when I'm done." Thor assured his boss, though Steve had a feeling that 'later' meant 'never.'

Bucky sighed as if realizing what Steve was thinking-and agreeing, too. "Really, you shouldn't eat that stuff." Bucky warned, hazel eyes gesturing at the soggy back on the front desk. "All chemicals."

Another skeptical eye exchange happened between Steve and Thor. "I didn't peg you as one to care that much about your health." Steve said bravely.

Thor's lips pursed slightly at the other blonde's words. He even scooted his chair a bit to the side as if not wanting to risk being associated.

Bucky, however, just picked his head up to glare at Steve. After a nice shower-and clean undergarments-Bucky smelled better, but he was still a mess: dark circles under his eyes, hair he never bothered to push away from his face, drab clothing. It almost made Steve sad.

"I care very much, thank you." Bucky said. He sighed, his head shaking slightly from side to side as he grabbed a pen and began to fill out some sort of paperwork. Steve inferred it was bills, overdue payments. Those seemed to be popular lately.

"Really." Steve pressed on. His arms crossed over his chest as he said, "The man who fell asleep on his face drunk to the moon and back all last night cares about his health."

Bucky snorted. "You care about your job?" He questioned aloud. The brunette picked his head up long enough to give Steve a wicked glare. "Cool it with the sass, kid."

Steve was a hundred percent sure he was a little older than Bucky, but it was hard to tell from the overgrown stubble and tired appearance of the other man. Either way, Steve didn't exactly grow fond of the 'kid' term.

All was silent again before Thor grabbed the paper bag still full of food. "So neither of you guys are going to eat, right?"

Bucky's first client had canceled. He was free for the next few hours until his other scheduled appointment, which meant all the more time to interrogate Steve. And be harassed by Thor.

The three of them sat out front by the reception desk Thor had made so happily his home. It was odd seeing Bucky out in the open for so long like this, instead of holed up in one of the tattoo rooms.

Thor rolled up the shoulder of his sleeve as Steve uncapped a permanent marker. Bucky sat on the desk, swinging his legs childishly. How he managed to seem so innocent yet so rugged, Steve would never know.

"That's gonna take days to wash out." Thor whined. Bucky just reached out his leg and kicked Thor's knee, earning another cry of helplessness from the Aussie.

Bucky leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "So what? This is like Steve's working interview." He shrugged. "Unless you'd rather get a real tattoo?"

Thor scoffed and help up his free hand in surrender. "And risk covering up all this? No, thank you." He said with a low whistle.

All three of them smiled a little at Thor's witty humor. Steve scooted his chair closer to Thor's and grabbed the other man's forearm. He turned it over a few times, wondering what to draw that would impress Bucky. He'd never drawn on people before.

Bucky watched curiously for a moment before saying, "You can relax, Steve. This isn't the SATs."

Steve sighed. "Those were very stressful, you can't blame me." He shrugged.

With a satisfied smile, Bucky said, "I wouldn't know."

Steve stopped himself from looking over his shoulder. He wanted to see the look on Bucky's face when he brought up that memory of being a drop out. Was it sad, somewhat regretful or missing? Or was it more relieved, a nightmare he easily was able to escape?

However, Steve just chewed the inside of his cheek and kept his focus on Thor's arm. The Aussie was well built enough to give plenty of blank space, so Steve started out sketching along the wrist.

Thor giggled softly. "It feels wet." He chimed unnecessarily. "Is that what a real tattoo feels like?"

Bucky laughed. It was this dark humored sound that seemed to come from his chest. Steve liked the sound. It seemed so very _Bucky_. "Shit doesn't tickle."

A smile grew over the edges of Steve's lips. His hands kept tracing along Thor's arm, over the divots of his forearm before going up his bicep. He shifted to the outer edge of his seat as he worked.

"You don't have any tattoos, Steve?" Bucky asked. His heavy brows were knitted in Steve's direction.

Shaking his head, Steve kept his eyes glued on his art piece. "Nope. Not really my style."

Bucky clicked his tongue, a condescending _tsk-tsk_ sound. "All those years in the reserves and not even _one_ little guy got under your skin?"

Steve only laughed. "Like I said, not my-"

"Style." Bucky rolled his eyes as if the phrase was so unappealing to him, it made him sick. Bucky leaned closer, his hand trailing over the hem of Steve's shirt. Before he could react, Bucky pulled up the back of Steve's shirt to check for ink.

"Bucky!" Steve hissed. He immediately turned in his seat, pulling the marker away as not to screw up his design.

Bucky could only laugh at the red tinted over Steve's cheeks. "What? I had to check for tramp stamps." He snickered.

A deep breath was sucked into Steve's lungs during a brief moment of regaining his self control. "I don't know about you, but I don't often go around pulling up other people's shirts."

He could hear Bucky feigning a swoon behind him. "Why not? We're all friends here."

The mention of 'friends' made Thor's smile brighten, though Steve was still too flustered to tell. "Right. Show me yours then."

Bucky raised a brow, quietly down enough to ask in return: "Eh?"

Steve sighed, his jaw grit with embarrassment. "Show me your back tattoos then. I need to check for tramp stamps."

It was quiet again before Bucky jumped off his perch on the desk. "Very well." He said.

Steve wasn't really expecting him too; Bucky seemed much too lazy and much too easily frustrated to go along with it. But sure enough, Bucky turned around and lifted up the back up his shirt, all the way to his shoulder blades.

"Bucky!" Steve shouted again.

The brunette only laughed, his wide smile creating dimples on his stubbly cheeks. "You and your modesty. Oh darling, you are quite the blushing maiden."

Steve would have steam blowing from his ears had this been a cartoon. Instead, he sat there helplessly, pen in his hand and red in his ears. "You don't even have any tattoos there. You could have just said, 'Oh, I don't have any back tattoos.'"

Even without ink, Steve couldn't help but stare at the olive toned skin. His muscles and bones alike were both subtly visible, as well as a few minor scars. He yearned to know their stories.

Bucky huffed as he tugged his shirt back down. "What's the fun in that?"

Rolling his baby blue eyes, Steve swiveled his chair back to face Thor. "Absolutely nothing." He retorted sarcastically.

With that, Bucky returned to sitting atop the front counter. "Just never got around to it. The back tattoos." He explained.

Steve didn't ask, yet Bucky shared either way. Somehow, that made him proud. "What was your first tattoo?"

Bucky was silent for so long, Steve had to look behind him and check to see what the other man was up too. Bucky just shrugged. "It's not my favorite tattoo. I'll tell ya later." He said, before narrowing his eyes. "If you're worthy."

Steve just smiled an infamous and innocent grin. "Will do, Buckaroo."

Bucky didn't hesitate to growl. "Just Bucky."

It went on like that for what felt like ages: Thor oddly quiet in his faux-tattoo chair, Steve intently hunched over his hard work, and Bucky watching like a falcon over the stiff lines of ink Steve drew on the other man's skin. All that added in with some harmless banter. It was relieving for Steve to smile so freely.

An hour or so later, Steve capped his almost dry permanent marker up again, tossing it on the table. "All done." He leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin to look over his work.

"Steve..." Thor murmured, his pale eyes looking over the patterns on his skin. "What have you done?"

Bucky even snorted; among the temporary designs were mostly flowers, all shaded in a harsh black and grey color. A few butterflies roamed around as well, strips of cheetah print filling in the empty gaps.

"Oh, you look beautiful, darling." Bucky cooed with false admiration. He slid off his perch to examine the art further. "Is that a unicorn too?" Steve nodded. "Impressive for marker."

Bucky's eyes looked over the art Steve had made, and that made his chest warm from the inside out. Being praised by this man, even for something as simple as Sharpie art and as childish as girly designs, was satisfying. The look in Bucky's bright eyes when he was interested was priceless.

"Days to wash off..." Thor mumbled, but he seemed rather thrilled with the unicorn as well. "Days."

Bucky just chuckled and patted the Aussie's arm. "You'll be alright, big guy."

Thor heaved deeply. "Why couldn't we have just used Bucky's eyeliner? He has a ton of it."

Bucky paled with anger, but before he could scold his employee, Steve asked, "You have eyeliner?"

The brunette looked side to side as he was bombarded with looks of intrigue from both parties. "Warm soap and barely any water. It'll fade in a day." Bucky huffed.

He stood up away from them, pale lips blowing a lock of messy hair from his eyes. Simple as that, Bucky returned to his shoulder-slouching physique, the smile fading from both eyes and mouth. Steve was sad to see it go; Bucky seemed like a man who needed just a little more sunshine.

Thor sighed. "He's very protective of his eyeliner."

Picking himself out of his chair, Steve only replied with a dry smile. It was hard to say anything when he knew jokes seemed too insensitive for Bucky. Bucky was as real as anyone else. So why did he seem like he wasn't entirely here?

 **thank you for reading! i've had a bit of trouble coming up with plot developing scenes for this, so i wanted to bump out a filler chapter before we get to the good stuff B) i hope you all enjoyed! comments & votes are appreciated xox**


	9. Chapter Nine

It didn't take long for Steve to realize that Bucky's wardrobe consisted of the same few shirts and hoodies on repeat. It had been maybe a week since the blonde's legal employment there, and each of those days had Bucky wearing jeans and a V-neck shirt that only varied slightly in color.

Steve was homeless and had more clothing options than him. He wasn't sure if that was a reflection on Bucky's financial status or his fashion sense. Either way, Bucky seemed pretty content with himself.

That afternoon found Bucky wearing dark washed jeans and a plain black hoodie-the hood actually pulled up over his face.

"Why wear a hood when your hair just covers everything for you?" Steve had asked. Bucky wasn't too thrilled with that one.

Since Thor had called in for a sick day, claiming he had gotten a cold from the constant rainy season that seemed to be showering New York in constant showers, Bucky had asked-more like demanded politely-that Steve and he go out to lunch.

The sky drab with a blanket of grey clouds, Bucky locked the tattoo shop up behind them before leaving. The ground was still damp from earlier downpours as they walked to a nearby restaurant for takeout.

"You know," Steve bega, not enjoying the odd silences between them, "I haven't had Chinese takeout in over a decade."

The way Bucky looked at him easily gave Steve the impression that he was astonished, even without Bucky needing to say, "Shit, you're in for a treat. Authentic New York Chinese."

Steve furrowed his brows. "How is it authentic New York if it's Chinese?"

Bucky only laughed, his stubbled cheeks dimpling. "Because it's absolute crap. New York makes everything crap." He said with a cheerful grin. "Authentic New York crap."

It was a good thing Bucky looked away because Steve's face reddened heavily. He never had anything against his home, but looking at it from Bucky's view sure made things questionable to say the least.

Tilting his head up to stare at the clouded sky, Steve chewed his cheek between his teeth. "I think it'll end up raining on us."

If Bucky cared, he didn't show it. "I kinda like the rain." He replied quietly before adding, "We'll have a moment to make out in the rain, then."

He snickered after he said it. It was things such as that which made Steve question the other man. It was hard to tell his sarcasm from the truth.

Hazel eyes slightly hidden beneath the edge of his hood and a few strands of hair that framed his face, Bucky kept walking. His hands were in his pockets, his eyes said straight ahead. It was as if his too moods were ' _calm_ ' and ' _slightly less calm_.' Reading him was a pain.

"You often make out with people in the rain?" Steve asked after another quiet moment. The blonde turned his gaze to Bucky, brows raised slightly.

The brunette just shrugged. "Once or twice." He replied. Something inside Steve's chest burned as the other man looked up at him with a playful smile. "If the person is right and the rain ain't too cold, why the hell not?"

Bucky emitted another perfect and low chuckle. _Finally_ , Steve smiled to himself, _answers_. He didn't want to push, fearing he would scare Bucky off like some alley cat, but he couldn't help it. "If the person is right?"

The other man nodded as if it was a stupid question. "I'm not picky." He assured Steve.

It was impossible for Steve to will away the redness that stained his cheeks. "So you really would kiss me?"

Bucky stopped walking. For a moment he thought he was finally going to elicit a response out of the elusive man, but Bucky just reached out his arm to grab a hold of the restaurant door. It was as simple as they reached their destination.

Opening it up, Bucky rolled his eyes and gestured inside. "Just shut up and buy me lunch, alright?"

The two of them had waited by the door for almost twenty minutes in an odd silence. Occasionally one of them would murmured something to the other, but for the most part it was just a lifetime of shuffling back and forth and flushed faces when they brushed up against each other.

When the small bell at the counter went off and the hostess set the bag of takeout on the counter, both boys nearly jumped forward with relief. Steve, of course, reached out to grab the bag and carry it, which Bucky had no problem with.

By the time they made it outside again, it had begun to drizzle rain. Light droplets of water fell no heavier than mist, but Steve still tried to hurry back to work.

Bucky seemed to notice as well. The prominent curve of his Adam's apple was clearly seen as he tilted his head back. Steve tried not to stare, his blue eyes watching Bucky from the corner of them in hopes of being discrete.

His hair already looked wet, or maybe it was just the way he wore it so messily. A few dots of rain laid on his face like clear freckles. Bucky was too lazy to brush them off, so instead he looked back ahead of him and kept walking.

"Did it scare you?" Bucky asked plainly. His eyes were still set on some point ahead of them.

Turning his head, Steve gazed down at Bucky in subtle awe. "What?"

"Did it scare you," He repeated, hands stuck in his hoodie pockets, "Shipping off to the military alone like that."

Steve had never cared to think about it before. It seemed rather obvious. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't. But that's the thing about being brave; you have to take a few sacrifices."

It was then that Bucky finally turned and looked up at Steve. "So you think you're brave?"

The blonde hardly hesitated before nodding. "I'd like to think so." He replied. "What about you?"

Bucky let out an unamused huff. "Do I think I'm brave?" Steve gave a nod, and Bucky continued, "Hardly."

Steve didn't accept that answer. "Why not? You've been on your own just as long as I have."

The brunette shook his head. Stringing locks of hair fell over his brow again. "It's not the same. You chose to be alone for the greater good. I did this because-" He trailed off. Steve wasn't sure if that meant he was ashamed of his reason or he just didn't have one.

"There's nothing wrong with trying to make a life for yourself." Steve twisted his hand to readjust the plastic handle of their takeout digging into his palm. "We both did the same thing, really."

Bucky laughed, but this time it was a forced mockery. "The same thing? You left because you were selfless. You became a soldier and I became a street rat."

Steve furrowed his brows. This tidal wave of sudden self pity from him was unnerving. "Do you regret it?" Bucky hushed. Turning, his hazel eyes stared up at Steve curiously. The blonde kept talking, "Do you wish you could change it?"

There was a moment of silence, contemplation on Bucky's end before he spoke up. "No. I got this far." Even as he spoke those words like he was proud of it, Steve had the impression Bucky was only saying that to appease him.

"Then don't say such pathetic things." Steve snapped quickly. Bucky hardly flinched, but it was the most response Steve had gotten out of him all day. "You got this far, so there's no point in mumbling over how awful things are. Get over it."

Bucky's bright eyes were wide in comparison to any time Steve had seen them before. It was a mix of childish wonder and dawning admiration. It made the pink color return to the blonde's cheeks, though in a proud way this time.

"You're pretty good at motivational speeches, punk." Bucky's lips curled up into a crooked smile as he spoke. "I think you're working the wrong job."

Just like that, Bucky was back to his playful ways. Steve had his obvious selfless inclination to know more, to hear about every story Bucky had ever told and every memory he ever made. He could listen to the gritty sound of Bucky's voice for hours without boring.

Suddenly Steve missed it, the rare moment Bucky had just opened up like that. Rare things were supposed to be _rare_ after all, and Steve somehow wanted them for very selfish reasons.

For the first time in a very long time, Steve gave in to his selfish desires. The plastic bag in his hand dropped to the ground as he reached out for Bucky. One hand closing around the brunette's forearm, Steve yanked him back and pulled him into his own chest.

Before Bucky could make a snide remark about their spoiled food, Steve hunched over him and collided their lips together. His mouth met Bucky's as Steve's fingers edged along the nape of the other man's neck. Long strips of black hair moved around beneath his touch.

For what felt like years, Bucky neither reciprocated nor pulled away. He sat there, tense bodied and tilted up for open access to Steve's kisses. The arms that hung slack by his side had begun to anger Steve. _Just do something back_.

Bucky did nothing. Steve had to take a breath and say, "It's not raining much yet, but we can wait until it starts." _I wouldn't hesitate to kiss you again._

Bucky didn't response to Steve's helplessly romantic offer. The blonde just found himself gritting his jaw and staring at Bucky's lips. The smaller man's eyes never met his own. Steve wanted to yell at him, beg him to show _anything_ in return, but nothing happened.

Sliding his hands back into his pockets, Bucky turned away from Steve. "Let's go. I don't want to wait and end up eating rainwater chicken."

Steve watched helplessly as Bucky began to walk away. They were slow and small strides as if waiting for Steve in a subtle way. He had no choice but to stoop down and grab the bag again, not bothering to check the food to see what was salvageable.

The plastic handle dug into Steve's palm again. The drops of rain fell over his hair and rolled down the slope of his temple. Silence enveloped them as they finished their walk. All Steve could do was pray for the storm to come and give him a reason to make another move.

As Bucky dug the keys out of his pocket, his hands were shaking. The two of them stood in front of the tattoo parlor, but Bucky couldn't bring himself to unlock it. His unsteady hands made an effort to push the key in, but he was trembling too much to do so.

Every cell in Steve's body ached to reach out, to help Bucky or to grab another kiss, it didn't matter. Yet he refrained. He just sat there staring at a man whose hands were too shaky too hold and whose pride was too high to ask for help.


	10. Chapter Ten

With all the giddiness and nerves that had built up inside him, Steve had felt like a school girl with a lame crush.

Bucky hardly responded, and that terrified him. If stupid kiss in the semi-rain hadn't worked, then he was sure nothing else would seem quite to Bucky's liking. Maybe he didn't even like guys. That would just be Steve's luck, really.

Together they went inside the tattoo parlor, wiping their wet shoes off on the rug like they were coming home for supper. It was a simple, childish act that made Steve feel sadly nostalgic.

Bucky seemed to not care, which was nothing out of the ordinary. The brunette simply went over to Thor's desk and pulled up a spare chair so both of them could sit and eat. Steve wasn't expecting Bucky to shun him after a kiss like that, but this seemed just as bad.

With nowhere else to go, Steve grabbed the plastic bag of food and hefted it up onto the desk. Luckily for them only one box of rice had broken open, as well as some sauce leaking from another one. Despite that, their take out still seemed edible. After a few years in the military, Steve was sure he had eaten worse anyway.

The larger blonde man sat down beside Bucky in the spare chair he brought up. His somewhat wet sweatshirt clung to him, but he was scared to take it off. He felt like such a wimp for needing to hide under laying of clothing as if it would make him disappear.

Bucky was the first to reach out and grab some food. He went for a box of Mongolian beef and a packet of chopsticks. His hazel eyes focused on his food the entire time, but his gaze still seemed distant.

When Steve finally managed to stop staring at his boss, he grabbed a box of chicken something-or-other, he wasn't quite able to pronounce it, but it looked good, and a pair of chopsticks as well. For a moment, it was silent except the cracking and rolling of take-out utensils.

"Thanks for lunch." Bucky said, his voice only a notch quieter than usual.

Steve just nodded his head, his pale lips pulling into a grin of half-fallacy and half-genuineness. His head tilted down to stare at his food blankly. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head as he stared at some sketchy boxed food, but he couldn't concentrate on just one.

"I thought you said you'd been kissed in the rain before." Steve finally said. He picked out a piece of chicken and plopped it into his mouth.

Bucky did _the thing_ again; the thing where his body reacts, he hesitates and stops everything for just a second, then acts like nothing ever happened. A clump of damp brown hair fell in front of his face, but he blew it away. "I have. Would I lie to you?"

"Probably." Steve retorted quickly. By now, he wasn't exactly eating; he was just stabbing his food with his chopsticks out of aggravation.

Bucky's omni-colored eyes immediately turned up to stare at Steve. They were wide and doe-eyed, but his jaw grit angrily. "I wouldn't lie to you, don't be stupid." He murmured.

Something mixed between a sarcastic huff and a laugh left Steve's lips. "I am stupid if you couldn't tell. What kind of smart person goes around kissing people in the rain?"

At that, Bucky groaned and rolled his eyes. "Just because I said I did it before doesn't mean anything like that. I don't have to be an idiot to kiss someone." He said, taking a deep breath.

Steve hadn't even meant to be talking about Bucky, rather himself, but it did come out that way. His head hung slightly, his hand poking lamely at his food. "Not to kiss someone."

Bucky sat back in his seat, one leg tucked up into his chest. "What?"

"You don't have to be an idiot to kiss someone." He said in agreement, though his blue eyes couldn't bring up the nerve to look at the other man beside him. "I'm just exceptional like that."

There was a small few seconds when both of them smiled, picking at their food and having just one moment where they were feel alright. It was over too soon.

Steve licked his lips as he tried to figure out what to say. He didn't have to, though, as Bucky beat him to it. "I didn't know you were like that."

The blonde's eyebrows furrowed together deeply. "What?" He asked through a mouthful of vegetables.

Bucky smiled weakly, his face somewhat embarrassed. "Gay. I didn't know you went for the other side." He added the last part teasingly as if it would make things more humorous. It really didn't.

Steve had never thought about it. His broad shoulders moved simply one time in a soft shrug. "I'm not, or at least I don't really care. If it's someone you love, there shouldn't be a problem, you know?"

 _If it's someone you love_. Bucky almost choked on his own breath, however that was possible. His hands faltered grabbing his chopsticks again, and he cursed silently at how hard they were to use. It took his mind off the L-word for just a moment.

The brunette seemed to still again, his body slightly curled up in a way that looked like he too wanted to hide and disappear. At least now they found common grounds. "No. I really don't." He admitted his confusion with a small, shaky laugh.

Steve didn't mind. Seeing Bucky smile like that, even out of pure anxiousness, was uplifting. "It's different for everyone I guess. I just like people, regardless of who they are." He said. He leaned back in his chair slightly, trying to ease away his own tension.

"Well there's the problem." Bucky said, his stubbly cheeks pushing up in a small smile. "I hate people."

Steve also let out a weakly humored laugh. "Yeah, that may be a problem." He nodded. His long legs stretched out in front of him restlessly.

Bucky set his food down in his lap, instead using his hands to tie his hair back into his signature sloppy ponytail. The robotic tattoo on his left arm was so realistic that it seemed to catch the light as well. Steve must have seemed so childish being so entranced with it, but he couldn't help it.

Bucky was a walking mess, but he looked like art.

Clearing his throat, Steve looked away and tried to finish eating as well as he could. "So you aren't then?" He asked. When Bucky looked up with the same quizzical look, Steve added, "Gay, going for the other side?"

That was another moment that made Bucky smile, and Steve's chest ached in the best way possible. The brunette shook his head, only a small strip of hair by his temple falling free. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Steve raised a brow.

"I dunno." Bucky repeated. His hands grasped the chopsticks again, yet they still failed to cooperate with him.

Steve looked down at his food, plopping another cut of chicken in his mouth. "How does one not know what one finds attractive?" He asked dumbly, chewing on his food in a way he hoped would annoy Bucky. After a rejected kiss and "I don't know," he was a little aggravated.

Bucky raised his hand and pointed to himself to make it clear. "I hate people, remember?"

"People like Natasha." Steve said quickly.

Bucky was still albeit the visible swallowing of the lump in his throat. "Why do you say that?"

"Gee, I wonder." Steve sighed, tapping the top of his chopsticks to his chin. "You can't hate people just because one bad relationship ruined it for you. There's more to it than that."

Bucky raised a brow, and he sat forward quite seriously in his seat. "What exactly is there _more_ of, huh? More assholes to screw me over? More hearts to be broken? Yeah, sounds dreamy." he retorted with a huff, slumping back in his chair.

His sense of hope was so far gone that Steve had begun to lose his. "More memories to build, the good kind. Hearts are bound to break, assholes are bound to screw." Steve said gingerly, and Bucky snorted at the last part. "It doesn't change the fact that you're wasting your life by being afraid.

"I never said I was afraid." Bucky said slowly, carefully.

Steve shook his head. "You didn't need to."

Bucky's throat shifted again with another nervous swallow. His hands were shaking so much that he ended up tossing his chopsticks away in the garbage can under the desk. Instead, Bucky pulled open one of the drawers and grabbed a disposable plastic fork, which made Steve wonder exactly how many times this guy had tried and failed to eat Chinese food the traditional way.

Despite the small humor of Bucky's repeated mishaps, Steve couldn't help but notice him shaking. Bucky's nerves were as delicate as wildfire, his anxiety easy to swell like a fresh injury. Steve pitied him, but more than anything he just wished he could take some of it.

There were times like these that Steve didn't mind being selfless. He didn't mind helping a friend during war, whether it be the kind with guns and bombs or the kind with your own mind. Steve sought happiness in other people's relief, and Bucky needed a lot of it.

"Are you ever going to know someday?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked up at him in questioning before realizing Steve had gone back to their random sexuality talk. He just shrugged. "Someday. Who knows, I may not really care." He shrugged, mocking Steve's own words.

The blonde man sighed, a crooked smile played over his face. "Figure it out soon, will ya?" He said. His smile had faded slightly as his eyes met Bucky's.

It was clear that Bucky didn't know what to say. His head just hung down to stare at his food, lips pressed together in a thin line. "What for? You in a hurry to leave or something?"

Steve shook his head as he took another nonchalant bite of his food. "No." He said. Reaching for a soy sauce packet, he added, "Kinda the opposite actually."

Steve wasn't looking, so he missed the sight of Bucky's colorful eyes widening. The brown, the green, the blue all jumbled together and staring back at Steve with something just shy of admiration. "What if I don't figure it out soon then?" He asked.

The blonde took a moment to answer. He tossed away the empty sauce packet, his chopsticks poking around his food just to keep busy. With a small smile, Steve turned to Bucky and said, "Or I'll have to help you. And that would probably be a pain in the ass."

How he would even 'help' Bucky, Steve wasn't sure. There was something in his mind that bordered on the idea of many more kisses in the rain and crappy takeout. He felt so daring to admit it, but Steve wouldn't mind making sure his feelings to clear. God knows Bucky wouldn't do the same.

"Oh," was all Bucky replied.

Together they sat there, picking at low-quality takeout and wondering how long it would take for another kiss to emerge. For Steve, he could wait months. For Bucky, he only prayed Steve would do it soon since they both knew Bucky didn't have the courage.

 **i hope you enjoyed this story! thank you for reading!**


	11. Chapter Eleven

Steve had been to war, yet nothing was quite as terrifying as the hum of a tattoo needle.

The first time Steve saw Bucky really working — not just harassing Thor — was something that somehow scared the living hell out of him. The buzzing was the only audible thing in the entire parlor, and the fact that Bucky wore a mask and gloves as if he was going into surgery spooked Steve more.

 _You've been shot at by terrorists_ , Steve calmly reminded himself. _You can handle getting a tattoo._

That was not the case at all. Steve's fingers curled around the edge of the curtain as he pulled it back to get a look inside the small, blocked off tattooing room. A woman sat in the chair that reminded Steve vaguely of a dental office with earbuds pressed into her ears. At her right, Bucky leaned over her forearm with the machine in his hand.

The only thing remotely peaceful about the entire scene was how captured by his work Bucky seemed. Steve never pegged Bucky for an artistic type; he was covered in tattoos, but it made him seem more of a tattoo _ee_ than a tattoo _er_. But here it was evident his work consumed him.

Bucky had his hair tied back into a sloppy bun. It had grown longer in the past few weeks so his bangs no longer drifted in front of his eyes. Oh, his eyes, hazel multi-colored orbs focused so intently on the ink in her skin that he hadn't even noticed Steve watching them.

Or so Steve thought.

"Did I get a call or something?" Bucky asked. His eyes never left his canvas of skin, which made Steve shuffle awkwardly from foot to foot.

Shaking his head, the blonde replied, "No."

Bucky sighed softly. When he looked up, his eyes were tired and sunken in towards the bottom. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all yesterday, not after their hopeless kiss in the rain. Steve would be lying if he said he had gotten any. "I'm trying to focus, if you don't mind."

Steve had heard of some people striking up conversation during tattoo sessions to help distract them, but Bucky didn't even vaguely want to talk. He was already so quiet, so guarded, that Steve just nodded his head. The curtain fell back into place, and two of them were separated again.

"I have one coupon for an extra-large two topping pizza at Marco's, and it expires in a week." Steve said, waving the thin piece of paper around subtly.

Bucky tried to ignore him, but it was near impossible when a large ex-marine was giving you the puppy eyes for crappy New York-style pizza. "Cool?" He said, not sure whether or not to put in the effort to sarcastically pat Steve on the back.

The blonde had his thick arms crossed over his chest. He leaned against the wall as he watched Bucky clean and put away all this tattoo equipment for the next day. Bucky seemed more intent on bagging up unsterile needles than talking about pizza.

"So," Steve sang, "you need to tell me what you like on your pizza so I can order this for us tonight."

For just a split second, Bucky paused. He continued cleaning up his work area with a small grunt. "And what gave you the notion that I would like to have dinner with you tonight?"

Steve almost gasped as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "Because it's crappy New York food." He mimicked Bucky's tone. "Duh."

Bucky snorted with a small bout of laughter before realizing he was supposed to be aggravated. His smile fell immediately and he shook his head. "Where did you even get that coupon? Were you up at five this morning going through newspaper clippings, grandpa?"

The blonde was hardly phased. If anything, he laughed too. "Actually it's from a magazine while I was waiting at the laundromat. But you can make many more old person jokes towards me tonight while we share pizza?" His voice trailed off in a hopeful end.

Steve had no idea why he was trying so hard. God knew Bucky wasn't going to, so what was there to lose? Either Bucky would finally cave in and they'd share their proper kiss as one of them tried to hail down a taxicab at one in the morning in the pouring rain, or it would simply stay like this.

Yeah, Steve had thought it through pretty well.

Somewhere behind them, Thor had laughed lowly to himself. He had a trash bag in hand, and he set it down to pick up and take out the trash sitting in the corner of the tattoo room. "Buck, if you don't go on a date with him, I will." Thor sang, his lips pressed together innocently.

"It's Bucky" was all the brunette cared to reply with through gritted teeth.

Both Steve and his peculiar Aussie friend snickered quietly. Just as quick as he came, Thor picked up the trash and left. Bucky didn't say a word until he heard the door open and close, signaling Thor went out to the dumpster.

"Mushrooms and pepperoni." Bucky said clearly, calmly, as he bumped the last drawer full of organized ink pots closed with his hip. "And if you call it a date, I'm throwing your ass out of my apartment without pizza."

Steve truly felt like a puppy with the way his mood instantly perked up. "Are you inviting me to your apartment?"

Bucky made a frustrated grumbling noise from somewhere in his chest. He grabbed a pen and a sticky note, frantically scribbling something down. "It's not an invitation. It's an acceptance because you're paying."

With that, Bucky walked forward and stuck the note to Steve's chest. His eyes lingered there a moment before he shook his head and walked away. "Thor has keys, he'll lock up." He said. Bucky grabbed his coat off the back of a chair, swung it over his shoulder, and walked outside into the lowering light of sunset.

Steve looked down at the note on his chest. He pulled it off quickly, bringing it up to stare at it. In thin, all-caps letters was Bucky's address written in scratchy black ink. Some of it was smudged in his haste. Such an artist, Steve huffed to himself.

There was another thud of the door as Thor came back inside. He peered around the corner, probably looking for Bucky, but instead found Steve grinning like an idiot at a small slip of paper. "Were you just invited to the ball, Cinderella?" He asked with sarcastic dreaminess.

Steve pressed his lips together to contain a smile, but it didn't work. "I got a date." He said quietly, flipping the note around to show his coworker.

Thor whistled lowly as he shook his head from side to side. "Good luck with that."

Bucky had never set up a time, so Steve had no idea when to arrive at the sloppily written destination written on the note.

By now it was dark outside, and the neon lights of the motel caught Steve's eye as he locked up his suite behind him. He had no money for a cab, so he figured walking there would take long enough. He still had a nagging feeling that Bucky would think he was much too early that he just couldn't shake.

Bucky lived a few blocks away from the parlor. It was a nice walk, though Brooklyn at night made Steve anxious. That combined with the fear of seeing Bucky made Steve go into a fit of nervous sweats.

What if he smelled bad from the walk there? What if Bucky changed his mind? What if Bucky was only doing this to humor him? What if–

Steve's thoughts were cut short. Apparently dwelling on stress made time fly, because before he knew it, Steve was standing at the bottom of Bucky's building waiting to be let in.

In that same scratchy handwriting, Steve saw the name Barnes written across the buzzer entry. He pressed his thumb against the doorbell. Bucky's static voice rang out after a moment: "What do you want?"

"Uh," the blonde shuffled back and forth awkwardly, "it's Steve."

Silence. "Oh." The intercom shut off and a small click suggested the door had opened.

Steve had never lived in an apartment building before. It seemed strange, like he missed out on the whole 'living in a crappy apartment and being independent' aspect of life. He'd skipped it and gone straight to sleeping in barracks instead. Yet independent was all Bucky ever was.

Skipping up to the second floor right where Bucky wrote down, Steve tucked the sticky note into his back pocket. His foot steps were soft across the hall as he found Bucky's front door and stood in front of it.

This is it. What would it look like inside? Probably messy, Steve figured. Did he look alright? Should he brought a different shirt to change into that wasn't so anxiety-sweaty? He couldn't remember if he had brushed his teeth-

Once again Steve was pulled from his useless thoughts — he really needed to stop stressing so much. The latch on the door fell away and Bucky pulled it half open. He stood there barefoot in jeans and a plain grey t-shirt, his hair messy like he had taken a nap and never brushed it.

"Were you just standing in front of my door?" Bucky asked quietly.

Out of instinct, Steve shook his head. "No."

"Then why were you out here for so long?"

Silence.

"Whatever. Just order me a pizza, I'm starving." Bucky shook his head and stepped aside to let Steve in.

Steve had no idea why he was so bad at social situations like this, but he wished he could've done more than just stand there. The brunette's brow's furrowed as he waited, and waited...

With a huff, Bucky leaned forward and wrapped his fist around the fabric of Steve's shirt. His hand to his chest, Bucky pulled in the other man and slammed the door shut behind them. The blonde's face was red with embarrassment. Nice one, Steve.

Before Steve could even say anything, Bucky grabbed a paper pizza menu and threw it at Steve, who awkwardly caught it in his chest. Bucky said as he walked away, "Mushrooms and pepperoni!"

Steve hated mushrooms.

Raw, they were bearable. But on pizza — so slimy and warm — he could have gagged. Though it was something Bucky liked, so he figured picking off a few slices of mushroom every once in a while was no big deal.

They sat on the carpet in the living room, their backs pressed against the couch and their legs stretched out before them. In between them sat a warm and lovely-smelling extra large pizza with craters of grease. Disgusting New York style, just how he liked it.

Bucky had a slice of pizza in one hand and the television remote in the other as they tried to find something to watch. At first he was intent on the TV, but eventually his attention turned towards Steve as he saw him dropping mushrooms onto a napkin out of the corner of his eye.

"Steve?"

The blonde looked up at him, his cheeks stained red again. Must everything embarrass him? Steve innocently bit off a piece of his now mushroom-free pizza. "Yeah?"

Bucky's tongue ran over his lips — God, Steve couldn't stop staring — just as those lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "You could have told me you don't like mushrooms."

Steve shrugged softly. Bucky's smile was so rare and relieving to see that it immediately put him at ease. "It's fine. You like them."

The brunette sat there in silence for a moment. His eyes were oddly sad, but his lips still held that cheeky half-grin. The half-and-half expression made Steve want to kiss him again, to make Bucky entirely grinning and no longer just oddly sad.

Bucky's throat bobbed visibly as he forced down a swallow. "Thanks."

Steve had no idea why Bucky was thanking him. Perhaps he had gone so long with the wrong and selfish kind of people and so long on his own that he forgot what it was like to have someone care about you, even in the slightest, stupidest way like picking mushrooms off a pizza.

Neither of them said anything else. Steve curled his legs up into his chest, hoping the tight position would hide the childish smile that spread over his face as he ate, their eyes glued to the television, the pizza steaming between them.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Dinner was satisfying, but the company was the best part.

Steve forgot how simply relaxing a takeout pizza could be. Even if it was dripping with fat and probably going to make him feel sick in the morning, he enjoyed that night. However, having Bucky there made things seem at ease.

Somewhere during an episode of _The Twilight Zone_ rerunning on cable, Steve had excused himself to use the bathroom. When he came back out, Bucky was sitting in the exact same spot on the floor. The pizza box was empty albeit one unwanted slice.

Bucky was staring at the television screen as he finished up his current slice of pizza, so Steve took the distracted opportunity to look around the apartment a bit. It wasn't as terribly messy as he expected, though a few articles of clothing did litter the floor here and there. The kitchen and open pantry were practically empty of all food.

Taking slow and wandering steps around the small living room, Steve looked over the boxes and shelving units full of books and music discs. Bucky didn't seem like a reader, but apparently he was. Many old vinyls sat in their sleeves carefully. A record player adorned the table in the corner.

"I didn't peg you as a classic music kind of guy." Steve blurted out. He grabbed a vinyl from the shelf and twirled it between his hands.

Bucky turned around slightly in order to give the blonde a scowling glare. "Classic rock. There's a difference."

Despite his harsh look, Steve laughed at Bucky. "Classic rock? Because this Bobby Darin soundtrack would beg to differ."

"Put that down!" Bucky chided. He wiped his greasy hands off on the thighs of his pants before pushing himself to his feet. "Besides, there's an _AC/DC_ vinyl in there somewhere."

Steve snorted again. "How eclectic."

The brunette smiled humorlessly at Steve's choice of words. Reaching out, Bucky pulled the vinyl from Steve's hand and slipped it back on the shelf. "You always look through people's stuff?"

Steve nodded wordlessly as he went to grab yet another sleeve without Bucky's permission. "You know, if I had a place I'd let you look through my stuff so we'd be even."

"How charming of you." Bucky said with a subtle shaking of his head. "I feel like most the weird stuff I'd find at your crappy motel wouldn't even be yours. That's no fun if you're innocent."

Steve laughed softly, his lips pressing together. "I'm very innocent, I assure you."

"Sure."

The blonde reached out his leg to give Bucky a playful kick to the shin, but the other man just snorted as he was hit. "Which one is that?" He asked, gesturing to the cover.

Steve looked down at the vinyl in his hand. "Chuck Berry."

"See." Bucky said slowly. He grabbed the case from Steve and carefully slipped out the smooth black disc from it's case. "That's rock."

Steve nodded his head as he watched the other man's hand press the on switch of the record player. "Fair enough."

The record player hummed to life. With careful hands, Bucky gripped the edges of the disc and placed it onto the spindle. It spun slowly at first before firing up the rest of the way. The brunette grabbed the actuator arm, guiding the head onto the edge of the vinyl.

Just like that, the first opening notes of ' _Johnny B. Goode_ ' hummed out through the apartment. There was music, there was dinner; in Steve's mind, this was already a date. But Bucky's plain face said otherwise.

Turning up the volume on the record player, Bucky turned to look at Steve. "Well, show me what you've got." His arms crossed over his chest.

The blonde stood there stupidly for a moment before scoffing in very late realization. "What? You want me to dance?"

Bucky nodded plainly. Just the one corner of his mouth was raised ever-so-slightly, but Steve knew it was just shy of a smile. "Yeah, why not? After all, you picked it out."

A silent stare-off between them made way, the only sound the crackling authenticity of the record player in the corner. With reluctant, Steve soon obliged.

"Fine, fine. But only because you're my boss." Steve replied stubbornly.

That was when Bucky's smile really grew. "Since when do you care that I'm your boss?"

Steve shrugged. "Absolutely never."

"Just get on with it already." Bucky laughed. When he shook his head in embarrassment, a few strands of hair fell over his face again. That had to happen on a daily basis at least, and it drove Steve crazy.

Steve sighed. He knew how to dance, at least traditionally. When he was a kid, he and his mom would listen to his dad's old records like that one, and she'd teach him how to dance. She had said true dancing like foxtrots were better to sweep a girl off her feet than anything other 'silly dance.'

It came in handy at times, but at the moment Steve wasn't so sure Bucky wanted to break out into a jazzy dance session. So, with a deep breath and a show of swallowing his pride all for the sake of making Bucky smile, Steve danced for him.

Before he even did one completely stupid dance move, Bucky burst out laughing. Steve had no idea how to dance by himself — this request was rigged from the start. Steve prepared himself for the barrage of ' _you dance like a white dad_ ' jokes coming his way.

To his surprise, Bucky didn't say anything. The brunette just watched with eyes crinkled in amusement as Steve stepped side to side with a goofy grin on his face, cheeks flushed with mortification, fingers snapping to the beat. He truly felt and probably looked like an idiot, but Bucky was laughing, and that was enough.

Steve decided he had enough when his heart started ringing in his ears. To avoid collapsing with embarrassment, Steve held out his hand towards the other man leaning against the wall like the cool kid at the school dance. "Come on, don't be a loner."

Bucky clicked his tongue. "This is your time to shine, grandpa."

The blonde sighed, his expression half grinning and half tight with regret. "Do I really dance like a grandpa?"

Nodding his head, Bucky's lips parted into a wide and carefree smile. "A little bit. It's nice, though! Very refreshing."

Steve groaned and threw his head back in despair. Nevertheless, he refused to stop dancing. "I'm better with a partner, you know."

Bucky raised a brow. "You say that to all the girls you try to pick up?"

"Only the pretty ones." Steve beamed in reply.

There was silence between them again as the mid-song guitar riff echoed out from the record player. That was when Steve made a pitiful whining noise and held out his hand again. "The song won't last forever."

"I'll find a new one." Bucky assured him.

"But this is a classic." Steve argued.

"I have a whole shelf full of classics."

"But I'm already dancing, it's be a waste if you didn't too."

"Steve, I'm not-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Steve reached out and grabbed his arm. Bucky let out a discontent grunt as the blonde pulled him off the wall. There was an over-dramatic stumbling as Bucky fell against Steve's chest-which may or may not have been from a sneaky trip on Steve's part-and Bucky looked up at him with humorless eyes.

"Don't be a grump." Steve chided almost immediately. As he said that, his right arm slid around Bucky's waist and his left grabbed onto the other man's hand.

Steve stepped back so their bodies could separate. He even made a chivalrous bowing gesture, to which Steve smirked and Bucky grunted, before stepping back in. Steve's foot stepped forward as Bucky's stepped back, and he forced his partner to do that into Bucky got into the rhythm.

"See? Totally fun." Steve noted optimistically. Bucky still didn't seem too enthused, so Steve reached over and turned the record player's volume knob up just a little louder.

Bucky's jaw grit together in what Steve hopped was an act of keeping a smile at bay. He may seem like a grouch, but Steve knew he was having fun.

With the music up a couple notches higher, Steve went back to the step-to dance rhythm had and Bucky made. Steve grabbed onto Bucky's hand, lacing their fingers together in a way their palms pressed up against each other.

For a few steps, Bucky looked away and refused to meet Steve's eyes. Though after a moment curiosity got the best of him and he turned his head to see the blonde staring at him with a dorky mouth-open smile.

Bucky burst out laughing for the second time. The tension in his face in hoping he could mask his happiness faded completely. The wrinkles around his blue eyes became ones of wild grins and not tired droops. The slight green hue to his hazel eyes became brighter, and it took everything Steve had not to kiss him again.

"Ready for a twirl, princess?" Steve asked, raising his arm tauntingly.

"Steve, I swear to g–"

Once again, he was cut off by Steve forcing him into it. Hands raised above their heads, Steve let Bucky spin around just once. His free hand nudged Bucky's hip to get him to move more.

Once Bucky faced him again, Steve pulled the two of them chest to chest. "I hate you." Bucky noted aloud.

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"You're smiling."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"I still hate you." Bucky said defiantly, though he was very much smiling as he looked up at Steve. "Why are you holding me like I'm the girl?" He scoffed.

The blonde pursed his lips in gentle thought. "Because you're smaller than me."

"Oh, by like three inches." Bucky rolled his eyes. The blonde looked down at Bucky with red cheeks but a sly smirk, and the brunette punched Steve's chest for finding some sexual innuendo. "Shut up."

Steve laughed generously, his hands still entwined with Bucky's. The music on the record player had changed to a new song, yet Steve wasn't sure how long it had been playing. He found himself staring down at Bucky's warm-with-joy eyes.

Subconsciously, Steve let go of Bucky's hands. The brunette kept them frozen in the air between them as Steve's hands trailed from the other man's wrists to his forearms, biceps to shoulders. His touch went up Bucky's neck, fingers moving along the side of Bucky's jaw and cupping at his cheek.

With steady hands, Steve pushed back the tangled strands of hair that fell in front of Bucky's brow. The other man didn't look him in the eyes; instead, Bucky's gaze was staring at but unfocused on the blank space of Steve's broad chest. The blonde let his hand slide further into Bucky's hair.

He was so close. He's not resisting, he's not pulling away from you, Steve thought to himself, would it really be so bad to have one more kiss?

His tongue ran over his own bottom lip as Steve's head tilted down. Their foreheads almost touching, breath mixing in the vague space between them, yet no one took the initiative. Steve could have gone for it.

He could've pushed the rest of the space closed between them. He could've refreshed his mind on what Bucky's lips tasted like. He could've ran his fingers along that sharp jawline, feeling his jaw move as Bucky's mouth opened against his own.

Except somewhere down in the apartment beneath them, Bucky's neighbor was banging on the ceiling and shouting for them to turn down their music in the late of the night. The hitting and angry yelling kept going, the noise mixed with that from the record player, but Steve and Bucky just stood there in each other's not-so arms.

"You should turn the music down." Bucky said in a quiet, shaded voice.

Steve's hands still felt the skin on Bucky's ear, the stubble on his jaw. His blue eyes still stared at the curve of the man's thin lips and the way Bucky's eyes stared at his own body.

"Yeah, I should."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Steve had not stayed the night. He would have cried with embarrassment if he did, and Bucky only would have laughed at him.

No, he still went home, though it was roughly one in the morning. That generally wasn't a time when the little child of a Steve Rogers wanted to talk to people, but a very friendly Sam had other ideas.

"Late night, huh?"

Steve hadn't even noticed anyone in the same parking lot as him until he heard Sam's voice. His body turned to the side quickly to find him standing beside his car, leaning over the open door as if he about to get in but was hesitating. Steve had a little glimmer of joy knowing Sam actually took the time to talk to him.

Shrugging simply, Steve rubbed the back of his neck in hopes it would keep him awake for a few minutes of conversation. "Something like that." He replied with a shy smile.

Sam had a very wide, evident smile. "I hear." His body swung softly as it laid over the open car door, rocking steadily on his heels. "How's the job hunting coming?"

There was something about strangers asking questions that made Steve suspicious; he had always been like that, though, and the military only etched it deeper into him. "I work at a tattoo parlor, actually." He felt his brow tilt up as he replied, just knowing the reaction it would get.

Of course Steve was right; Sam's mouth hung open softly in a half smile as he looked Steve over. "Certainly didn't see that one coming." He said with a very approving nod of his head.

Steve grinned softly. "No one did."

The dark skinned man's smile lit up brighter than the neon ' _vacancy_ ' sign at the motel entrance. "I guess not."

Steve was ready to leave again. He truly did like good conversation with good people, but he desired a good sleep more. Especially if he had a long day ahead of him, a day filled with the monotonous buzzing on machines and chewing of poptarts.

However, Sam was still intent on making a new friend out of Steve. "If you're ever free sometime, just let me know. I have a list of bars downtown that I'm sure you've never been to. And don't you worry, it'll be on me, in honor of your service or some crap."

 _Or some crap_. Steve smiled at the thought of Sam and Bucky sitting at the same bar together, drinking the same bear, ranting about the same problems. Then again, everything in Steve's life seemed to relate back to Bucky.

Steve was in over his head for that greasy-haired jerk.

The blonde just nodded a few times, slowly but surely. "That doesn't sound too bad." His lips pursed slightly in a teasing gesture. "I'll come down to your office and let you know."

Sam mock saluted Steve with his left hand very lazily, his foot already up and ready to slid into the driver seat of his car. "I'll be looking forward to it. Good night."

Raising his hand in a shy wave good-bye, Steve smiled back at Sam as the other man slid into his car and closed the door with a thud that echoed through the otherwise empty parking lot, albeit one other sad and lonely car.

Steve walked up the steps to his suite with the sound of tires crunching gravel behind him. Sam drove home, wherever that was, while Steve had come back to this, a cheap-for-a-reason and more than likely unsanitary pay-by-the-night motel.

There was no justice in giving up years of his life for this. Maybe it was the diehard optimist in him talking, but Steve still had hopes for this shitty motel and almost as shitty boss.

He just had no idea where to go from here.

I burned you. He-"

"Yeah, I know what he did!" Steve said, laying his hands on his hips with his head hung down low.

Bucky only snorted. He walked past them, ready to go into the back to prep for appointments. "You look like a distraught dad with that pose." Bucky added, disappearing around a curtained off tattoo room.

Steve wanted to argue but lost the energy. "I accept it. I mean, explains why I didn't get laid. Who wants to sleep with a distraught dad?"

Bucky ducked his head out past the curtain again. "Oh, you'd be surprised." He sighed, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a slight smirk. "Now come on, I need your hands."

It took a moment for Steve to will his legs to work properly, but once he began walking to follow his boss he felt his face light up a hot red color. "What for?"

He turned into the curtained room, seeing Bucky standing over the tattoo machine and laying out an array of clean, still packaged needles for quick replacement once he started to work. His head turned to Steve, cocked downwards in a way that his blackened hair went over his face like a streaky veil before looking back down again. "We're going to climb a mountain! Drawing, what else, you idiot?"

Steve would've thoroughly reprimanded anyone else who called him an idiot-possibly including Thor-but hearing it come from Bucky wasn't so bad. He just sat down on the edge of the tattooing chair with a silent sigh. "Did anyone ever tell you that you were charming?"

Bucky nodded. "Nat, before she dumped me and stole my wallet." He picked up a heavy pad of canvas paper and a felt-tipped pen, briefly turning to Steve to hand the items over to him. "So please, spare me the compliment."

Steve let out a quick scoff of a chuckle as he opened up to a clean page. "Trust me, I won't steal your wallet."

The little pieces of hair framing Bucky's face and falling free of his ponytail swung back and forth as he looked over his shoulder at Steve. He swore that look Bucky gave him was near flirtatious at least: narrowed and teasing eyes, half-smirked grin, the over-the-shoulder nod. "I hope you wouldn't dump me either." He snorted before looking back at his work.

Steve laughed humorlessly. "Breaking up with you would mean you giving me a chance in the first place. And you're not really into that." His eyes never left the pristine paper on his lap.

Even without looking up, Steve saw Bucky turn around, his playful — for once — smile surely fading. There was a soft sigh from the other man before he said, "Steve, I just–"

"You're just not into other people long-term. I get it." Steve cut him off even though he very much did not get it. At all. "What do you need me to draw up?"

Bucky was silent a moment. His hands still fiddled with the plastic covering on a single tattoo needle, his eyes cast down to stare at Steve, who wanted so badly to look up at him but had to resist the temptation.

One way or another, Steve would break into him and he would get what he wanted, whatever that may be.

"Hey, boss?" And suddenly Thor's bright face came around the corner, one hand drumming fingers onto his thigh.

Bucky took a moment to answer. Of course Steve was fine in moments like these; he knew how to handle rejection and the emptiness of emotions, just turning his attention to Thor like nothing was wrong. But Bucky needed a moment of recollection.

First a sigh, then a grumbled, "What?" under Bucky's breath as he finally looked up over Thor.

"Are you alright if you take a walk-in? You're next appointment isn't for an hour and a half still, and this young girl wants a black widow on her thigh. I don't think it'll take long." Thor answered simply. His other hand slipped into the thin pocket of his denim jeans.

Steve wasn't sure what the look on Bucky's face was for, but he hated that dismal and uncomfortable sneer of the brunette's lips and furrow of his brow. Running a hand through his hair in a way to alleviate the stress, Bucky asked, "Say, what's her hair color?"

Thor just shrugged. Apparently, by the way he looked to his side to the girl standing at the reception desk, he didn't mind Bucky's random questions too much. Must be normal. "Kinda red. Looks fake though, it's really dark. A little burgundy maybe, but–"

"Red is fine." Bucky cut off his assistant before the man could keep throwing shades of colorful descriptor words at him. "Fine, let her back here."

As Thor disappeared back around the corner to fetch her, Steve turned to Bucky. His slid off the chair, standing up in that overprotective and worrisome way he was known for, his hand reaching out to lay over Bucky's shoulder to keep his boss from pacing so much. "What's wrong? You never tattoo a spider before or something?"

Bucky stopped pacing as soon as Steve touched his arm, his head lifting up from the ground to give Steve those eyes that looked like panoramics of the Milky Way galaxy. His voice was low, discontent. "It's not the damn tattoo, it's–"

His voice shut off, and Steve's hand pulled away from Bucky so quickly that it would've seemed like his skin turned to lava to a bystander's perspective. But it wasn't Bucky that made him so jumpy.

It was Natasha, standing nearly a foot shorter than Thor and dressed in comfy for tattooing clothing, her thin but tones arms crossed to her chest, red hair laid in curls and just barely grazing the tops of her shoulders.

"Well," Bucky said, the reluctance in his voice all too evident. "You can start by sketching her a spider tattoo."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Bucky was doing nothing other than staring, so Steve figured he had to be the one to break the silence.

The blonde ex-militant turned to Bucky, ducking his head down discretely as he whispered, "The hell is she doing here?"

It took a moment for him to pull from his stupor. "The hell should I know?" He snapped back less than quietly.

Behind them, Natasha cleared her throat. Steve took it as a gesture meaning she could hear them, but he couldn't care less. She stole his wallet. That was mean.

"Just," Steve ran his hand behind his neck to rub it stressfully, "just get her tattoo and get her out."

Bucky's brownish eyes looked up at the taller man incredulously. "After all that she's done you seriously want me to sit here and do her a favor?"

Steve nodded blankly. "A favor she's paying you for. You need the money, so don't be picky."

Bucky needed the money. Steve hadn't even found a stable place to sleep at night, but it didn't matter to him. This was Bucky's life in one little shop. It would hurt to see him waste it.

Natasha's perfectly red hair and perfectly red lips were hard to ignore even from the corners of their eyes. She had an athletic physique, which Steve guessed was fitting from her job at the gym. She wasn't half as intimidating as the girls he knew from the Corps. But it was still enough to make him upset just by looking at her.

The were only two sounds throughout the parlor: Thor's humming from up front and some rather aggressive rattling of mundane objects as Bucky grabbed transfer paper and a blue ink pen.

"Sit." The long haired man spoke so bluntly that both parties acted; Steve plopped down in a roller stool as Natasha climbed up on the padded tattoo seat.

Steve's hands gingerly grabbed the paper as Buckt handed it to him. "So," the blonde said softly, but his eyes remained on the downcast aura of his boss rather than the customer, "what are you looking for?"

Natasha shifted in her seat. "A spider. Or a couple of them. On my thigh." She drummed her fingers against the skin showing from under her shorts.

Bucky's lips formed a taut line. He, too, didn't look over at Natasha. It made Steve feel oddly secure. "Really. You sure you wouldn't like a snake instead?"

Steve bit his teeth down around his bottom lip so hard to keep from laughing that it throbbed. He started by sketching out the body of just one spider, first, to see how she liked it.

"Bucky." Natasha said plainly. Her voice was tight and soft, almost the tone of Steve's mother when she warned him before going outside without a coat.

"Tasha." He replied back bitterly.

It was a simple way to say her name, but it was enough. It was enough to prove of some old relationship, a previous closeness. And Steve didn't even know Bucky's real name.

"You haven't been returning my calls." Natasha said softly. Her eyes wandered over the sketchpad in Steve's lap. "Did you block my number again?"

"After you stole Steve's wallet, yeah." Bucky's hazel eyes flicked upward to lock with Steve's for a moment. They fell down again as if in shame. "It wasn't exactly what I wanted to see from you."

Natasha's almond shaped eyes narrowed heavily. "Then what _did_ you want to see?"

"Nothing." Bucky sat up so quickly that his chair moved back a bit and Steve's pen ticked a notch into the paper. "I don't want to see you at all. Why did you even come here?"

The redhead's plump lips were left gaping slightly open. "I've been trying to get a hold of you to apologize for the other day."

Bucky snorted. It felt as if Steve shouldn't even be listening, like it was a conversation he wasn't meant to be hearing. "Apologize to him then, not me."

Steve looked up from his sketch pad long enough to make brief eye contact with the redhead. "Oh, yeah. I mean it was rude, but it's okay. Just-" Steve shrugged. "Don't do it again." He quickly looked down again.

The long haired man beside him gave Steve an exceptionally bewildered look. "Don't do it again? Gee, why not scratch her chin and give her a milkbone while you're at it?"

Steve rolled his eyes; his head turned to Bucky, voice hushed. "What? It's fine. It's not like I'm going to be seeing her after today." His face went a bit red as he looked over at her. "No offense."

She shrugged. "None taken."

Ripping off the ruined paper and beginning a new design, Steve quickly retraced a large spider, a few smaller ones climbing around the mother spider's dwindling legs. "Look, Natasha. I think we're just a bit confused as to why you've decided to come back into his life. Considering what happened."

Natasha raised an arched brow. "Right. Because I'm sure you know the whole story."

Steve didn't bother even looking at Natasha; his attention went straight to Bucky. For all he knew, Bucky dropped out of school and gave up everything for a girl who didn't return the favor. "What is she talking about?"

"She's talking about," Bucky started slowly, reaching over with an uncapped pen of his own, "more spiderlings at the legs. And add more of a shadow. I like the red on the back."

"Red on the back?" Natasha craned forward to look at what the two men hunched over. "Like a black widow?"

"That's fitting." Bucky snorted humorously under her breath before Steve jabbed his elbow in the man's ribs.

"Yeah. I figured red was your favorite." Steve said quickly afterwards. It didn't do much to stray his attention from the previous subject. "Bucky."

There may as well have been a deep aura around Bucky with the words _fuck off_ emanating from it. His dead set jaw and harsh eyes were clear of it, but it didn't scare Steve. It just made him sad. He knew the look of men hiding pain all too well.

A quick chime came from the front lobby as the front door opened; a charismatic greeting from Thor was followed soon after. While he was distracted by the sound, Bucky took the transfer paper from Steve and tore it off.

"Go see who it is. God knows Thor won't be able to help much." Bucky rolled his chair closer to Natasha, the ink paper still carefully pinched between his fingers. His eyes, at least, had softened. _It's okay_ , they seemed to say.

Steve reluctantly capped his pen and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. He stood up, slowly, unsure whether or not he would be comfortably turning his back to them. Selfishly, he wanted to be there, for everything. He wanted to be a part of Bucky's life, not a sideshow.

But he walked out of the room anyway, letting the curtain fall in place behind him, leaving his last sight of them one of Bucky scooting closer to her, knowing Natasha was more personal with him than Steve would ever get to be.

"Look, man, you can't let it get you down."

"There's basically nothing to be worried about."

"People keep secrets _all_ the time."

"Yeah, totally. Wait — what are we talking about again?"

Thor and Sam both erupted into a fit of laughter. The three of them sat around a square table with Steve between them. Cheers of hysteria echoed around the bar but was soon lost in the rest of the din.

"Idiot." Sam flicked the foam of the beer in Thor's direction. "Steve's venting about his terrible boss."

"Oh, crap, that's right." Thor had a laugh like a lion's roar; it subsided quickly as he downed his stein. The man really could drink.

Steve wasn't quite sure how he ended up drinking with his temporary landlord and boisterous coworker. He was aggravated after work, invited Thor out for a drink, and the next thing he knew he was craving the good old times of drinking with buddies and called up Sam for that night out they had discussed.

It worked out that Thor and Sam seemed to be getting along. Right off the bat, they had humor and a love for hard beer in common, which was enough to make any two guys' first meeting a hit, Steve guessed.

"What do you do, anyways?" Thor rolled his lips together in order to lick the foamy beer mustache from his actual facial hair. "Were you guys in the Corps. together?"

Sam shook his head modestly, though he smiled as if it was a massive compliment. "Nah, I got out of the military a little while ago. I run a motel on the edge of town. Not too far from the shop you guys are at. I've driven by there sometimes."

Thor drummed his fingers along the side of his glass. "Yet you've never stopped by to support out business. I'm hurt."

Suppressing a grin, Steve chortled. "You don't have any tattoos, either."

"You know how much Bucky pays me? I can only afford rent and this beer." He lifted his glass in mock salute.

"You guys aren't doing very well, huh?" Steve cocked his head lazily.

With a solemn nod, Thor prodded the head of his beer with his finger. "He's the only artist there. Even though he's almost always booked, sometimes he doesn't have time. He used to, but he's been a bit - _aloof_ \- lately."

"Aloof?" Steve sobered up almost instantly at the curiosity.

Seemingly regretting talking, Thor hesitated a moment. "He drinks. He uses all the money we make on my salary, his, and supplies. It's barely enough. We've been losing money ever since he started drinking, I swear."

Right after he stopped talking, Thor looked up in shame. "He's a really great guy. He's just been through a lot. The parlor is all he has left and he's still at risk for losing that. Bucky's just a bit lost right now."

Sam pursed his lips slightly. "I hear that."

He and Thor solemnly tapped the edge of their beer glasses together; Steve soon added his own glass to the center, wanting to be a part of the pathetic toast.

Sam was the first one to laugh and speak again. "That got depressing. Quick, change the subject."

"Tamales!" Thor gulped the last of his glass and slammed it down, immediately beckoning the bartender for another. "Or anything meaty wrapped in anything bread related."

Sam left out a slurred laugh. "Is food all you think about?"

"Well, mostly. But sometimes—"

Steve couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, pushing out from the table and pulling his wallet out. Every time he saw that wallet his got anxious just thinking about Natasha. He grabbed a few bills and threw them down on the table.

Thor stopped mid-sentence from the abrupt interruption. "Gotta piss?"

Steve shook his head before tugging his coat on one sleeve at a time. "Nah, I need to go."

"Already?" Sam checked his watch, face distorted in disappointment. "It's barely been an hour."

Steve couldn't wait; he gave his share of the tab and snapped the button of his leather coat collar. Somewhere Bucky was lost, meanwhile Steve was getting drunk with pals.

"I just, I need to go." He backed away from them, long legs practically already running off. "I have to find someone."

 **thanks for reading! i feel a bit bad for making thor's character so lackluster. however i don't read the thor comics so he (and hulk) are the two main avengers that i just don't know much about. so yes, i combined mcu thor with real life chris hemsworth. sue me xD**

 **don't forget to follow + vote + comment! 3**


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